Bearing the Burden
by FUlyric
Summary: In an alternate version of Simple Explanation, Taub finds Kutner has been the victim of a terrible crime. Can he be saved? Who wants him dead, and how far will they go to achieve that goal? Taubner friendship, with a generous helping of House & Co.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes: **I have had this running through my brain for a while now, and so with the advent of summer (and therefore, more free time) I thought to run it up the flag pole and see who salutes, as it were. An alternate take on Simple Explanation, based on House's murder speculation in that episode - and I honestly do not know at this point if Kutner will live or die in this. So YOUR reviews may determine his fate! Mwahahaha! Yeah, but on a serious note, I do not own any of these characters, which is very sad; House and Co. are all property of David Shore.

Chapter one

"Oh, look at the time! It's half past 'Taub WAS lying about Kutner.'" House looked pointedly at Taub as he spoke. The jig was up, apparently. Taub grasped at the few straws he had left. "He probably went to a comic book convention, spent the night at some Wonder Woman's lair, I'm sure-"

"Find out what or who he's doing." House cut him off. "Either way, Cuddy's going to want a reason for termination." He started to hobble away. "Taub, go to his apartment. Since you tried to cover for him, you can go uncover the truth. And it better be good; any more unimaginative excuses and you can both be in the unemployment line."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Secretly, he was a bit glad of the opportunity to go see Kutner alone. After the last case, when he had unceremoniously stolen credit for Kutner's leptospirosis idea, he had ducked out of the locker room quickly before House could question him further. He was also ashamed to face Kutner, who had glanced at him with momentary surprise when he claimed the idea, then had nodded subtly. Taub had not been able to sleep the night before, thinking about Kutner. He had come through for him, not calling him out on his lie. How could Taub possibly make it up to him? He felt a more than a bit guilty for what he had done, especially upon finding out this morning that House had known he was lying the whole time, and let him get away with it. So when Kutner had been late that morning, Taub had jumped at the chance to cover for him. Anything to make up for the previous night. But he definitely would need to do something more, something grander than a feeble and basically transparent excuse about a sick dog (he hadn't had much time to come up with something better).

_Maybe a nice dinner? _Taub thought, as he drove towards Kutner's building in the gray morning drizzle . _Maybe I can find something nice for his birthday. It's in a couple of weeks. Some rare Star Wars something or other, he'd like that. I just need to see him and explain why I did it. He won't hold it against me. He'll understand. _As Taub parked his car, he sincerely hoped that would be the case. He realized how much Kutner's friendship meant to him, despite his recent efforts to push the young man away. Taub knew, deep down, that if he were to lose Kutner's respect, it would be a devastating blow. Kutner was the first actual friend he had had in close to twenty years. Apparently he was a bit out of practice when it came to friendships. Taub resolved to do all he could to regain that trust.

He made his way through the brisk New England air to the front stoop and buzzed Kutner's apartment. No answer. He buzzed again, pulling his coat closer to him against the early April chill. Luckily, a tenant exited at that moment and let him into the warmth of the building. _Buzzer's probably broken_, he thought.

Five flights of stairs later, Taub knocked on the apartment door. "Kutner!" he called. "It's Taub! Open up!" No answer. He briefly wondered if Kutner had already hurried to work, and he had just missed him. _No, he would have called my cell in a panic, and asked me to stall. Or, if not me, then Hadley at least, _Taub thought to himself, realizing guiltily that Kutner could actually be angry at his betrayal. He hadn't seemed mad the night before, but maybe he just didn't want to express it with House in the room. Taub decided it would be better to go inside and see what was what. At least, if Kutner was still home, he could get a few minutes to talk with him alone, without House butting in to add fuel to the fire. He pulled out the spare key House had made, and inserted it into the lock.

It was dark inside the apartment. And it was _freezing_. Taub was surprised to find it was almost as cold inside as it was outside. _His heat broke, and he went to stay at a hotel, or at a friend's place,_ Taub hypothesized. Regrettably, Kutner hadn't called him – further indication that the young doctor was pissed at him, because he likely would have under normal circumstances. Taub scanned the interior of the living room, taking in all the toys and sci-fi memorabilia. He couldn't help but smile at how the room reflected his colleague's personality so fully. Then his eyes lighted on Kutner's keys and pager, which were on the desk by his laptop. His smile faded. Why would he have left those, even in a big hurry?

Something wasn't right. If Kutner wasn't home, and his keys were still here, how had the door been locked? Taub felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and it was only partly due to the cold air. He thought he heard a weird noise, a faint, high-pitched electronic buzz. Was it coming from the computer? Or ambient noise from another apartment? Taub suddenly _really _wanted to leave this place. But he couldn't, not until he found out what was going on. He forced himself to venture further into the apartment. He tried to ignore the little voice in his head that was screaming that something was wrong, and looked down the hallway to where the bedroom was located.

His stomach turned to ice.

Framed by the doorway, he only saw two jean-clad legs sprawled on the wood floor. The floor that was streaked with dark stains. Dark red. Blood.

"Oh my God…" Taub choked out, hardly realizing he had spoken out loud. He forced his legs, which suddenly felt like lead, to carry him to the bedroom. Kutner was face down on the bloody floor, his hand limply wrapped around a portable phone. The phone was on, beeping that annoying disconnection tone. That was the distant noise he thought he heard. "Kutner? Kutner! Can you hear me? Kutner, wake up!" Taub struggled to turn Kutner over as he grabbed the phone out of his limp hand. He clumsily tapped the three slick buttons that Kutner had failed to dial completely before blood loss and shock had overtaken him. When the 911 dispatcher came on the line, Taub realized how foreign his own voice sounded, loud and frantic.

"I need an ambulance! 410 Willis, apartment 5C. My friend, he – he's been shot. Uh, two, no, three gunshot wounds to the chest…He's lost a lot of blood... unresponsive, shocky. Alert Princeton-Plainsboro, tell them to have a trauma unit ready…God..." he began to stutter with panic as he tried to remember the relevant information to give. He was too preoccupied feeling for a pulse to speak coherently to the operator. "Please, just…Hurry, please, I don't know if he's…God, just hurry and send someone!" He hung up the phone and tossed it aside, and focused his full attention on his friend.

Kutner's face was ashen, and his skin cold and clammy. Blood saturated his dark blue T-shirt, pouring from the three small round holes in his torso. "Come on, give me a pulse, Kutner," Taub murmured. "I'm here, the ambulance is coming, just give me a pulse!" He found it finally, pressing his fingers to the artery in Kutner's neck. It was faint and erratic, like the fluttering of a dying butterfly. But it was there. Taub leaned down with his ear near Kutner's mouth, listening for respiration. The breaths were silent and shallow, but he could feel them. _Ok, he's breathing and he's got a pulse. We're in business._

He fumbled for something he could use to stop the profuse bleeding, and his hands grabbed onto a hooded gray jacket on the floor. Kutner wore that thing all the time. "Sorry, Kutner, I'll buy you a new one, I swear," he muttered as he spread the jacket over the ghastly injuries. Taub felt like he was moving far too slowly, as though he was underwater. Even his thoughts weren't moving as swiftly as he believed they should be. The only thing that seemed to be hyperfunctional was his mouth, as words just poured out with little or no cohesion. "I need to put pressure here, ok? It's going to hurt, I'm sorry, but I need to do it, so just…just bear with me ok, buddy? I don't want to hurt you, but it's not something I can help right now. We can get you something for pain later, how does that sound? I know House will be able to get you the good stuff. It's gonna be alright," Taub wasn't entirely sure when he had lost control of the power of speech. He knew he was babbling, but he needed to reassure Kutner that everything would be fine. Even if Kutner couldn't hear him right then, he needed to keep talking, regardless of whether he sounded like a blithering fool.

"You need to stay with me, Kutner. I'm not going to let you leave me like this. I'm right here with you. God, your hands are cold. Damn it, this is a nightmare. No, no, we're going to think positive. Don't worry. It's ok, it's gonna be ok, we'll get the police here, and they'll find the bastard who did this to you and put him away, and we'll clean up the floor in here. And I'll get you a new jacket. You're going to get well, and then everything will be fine. You'll see. You - geez, your hands are so cold, buddy. We'll get you out of here and warmed up real soon. I just need you to stay with me. Please..."

Taub muttered something between a curse and a prayer of relief when the wail of sirens finally reached his ears. "You hear them Kutner? The ambulance is here, they'll be up in a second. You hear the sirens? We're gonna take you to the hospital, fix you right up. I'm right here, I swear, I'm not going anywhere. Hold on, Kutner!"

The EMTs arrived in a flurry of activity, evaluating Kutner's condition and being apprised of the situation by Taub. The group quickly began the movement of the victim to the ambulance. As he was hurrying out the door alongside the stretcher, Taub finally noticed the door to the fire escape standing wide open.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **I should probably mention as we move along that while I have a doctorate, I am not a DOCTOR-doctor. Therefore, if my medical knowledge is sketchy at best, well, I do apologize. One does what one can, right? As always, no ownership of any of David Shore's creations, etc. Reviews are adored and best served warm!

Chapter Two

House scanned the semi-crowded cafeteria. At last he found Wilson, sitting in a booth munching on his lunch. _That rat_, thought House gleefully. _Thought if he ate an hour earlier I wouldn't find him. _House limped over to the booth and plopped down across from the oncologist.

"Seriously, how do you KNOW?" said Wilson, throwing up his hands in amazement as House reached across the table to steal half of his sandwich. "What do I have to do in order to actually eat MY food?" House smirked.

"You should know by now, you've got to get up pretty early to outsmart me. And I mean that literally." House heard his MmmmBOP ringtone merrily singing in his pocket. As he reached for it, he continued, "Eat your lunch at 4 AM. Of course, you'd have to eat breakfast at 11 PM, and bump dinner to mid-morning, so it would take a bit of a schedule adjustment. Excuse me; I need to see whether I am firing one or two fellows today." He flipped open his phone. "Better be a good excuse this time!" he barked.

Wilson watched as House's face changed momentarily from his normally inscrutable mask of disdain to a look of alarm. "What? How bad? …. I'll meet you there, five minutes." House snapped the phone shut, once again inscrutable, and with surprising speed pulled himself up from the table. Wilson asked, "What's going on?"

"Taub's bringing Kutner to the ER. He's been shot." Wilson dropped his sandwich in shock. House didn't bother to elaborate as he walked away. He merely said, grim-faced, "Now that's a very good excuse."

* * *

Cameron had received the EMT's call-in about the victim with multiple GSWs, and she went to the hospital entrance to meet the ambulance. Two years in the emergency room had unfortunately meant that she saw lots of these types of injuries. She was slowly becoming hardened to it, little by little. But when she saw Taub entering the ER with the stretcher, blood covering his suit and his face haggard, she was shocked. When she saw who was on that stretcher, her shock increased ten-fold. There was nothing routine about this.

Her mind suddenly flashed to when House had been shot, almost three years before, and how frantic she had been as he was rushed to the emergency room. She had to mentally shake off the memory, reminding herself that she was a doctor with a job to do. She was in charge this time. It shouldn't matter that she knew the person bleeding in front of her. He was still a patient. "What do we have?" she asked in her best professional doctor voice.

"28-year-old male, three gunshot wounds to the torso," the first EMT said. "The highest one looks like it went clean through the right shoulder – exit wound is high on the back. The other bullets are still inside. BP is 70 over 50, severe hypovolemic shock. Pulse is thready, and he's tachycardic." As the gurney was positioned in the first available trauma area, Cameron looked at Taub to see if there was anything to add. He just looked lost.

As various emergency staff began their initial triage work, Cameron gently pulled Taub away from Kutner's side. He was obviously in a state of shock as well, emotionally. He couldn't make eye contact with her; he looked like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't form the words. Taub was terribly frustrated by this. He couldn't believe it – he hadn't had any trouble talking before the ambulance had arrived. He hadn't been able to shut up. Had he used up all his words?

"Taub, I need you to stay back while we work on him, ok?" She spoke as gently as she could.

"Someone shot him…" Taub managed to say, in a hoarse voice. _He sounds so surprised_, thought Cameron. _Even after riding in the ambulance with him, he sounds like he's not sure if it's entirely true._

"I know, and you brought him in and we're going to do everything we can to help him. I just need you to stay right here for me, ok? I'm going to have them page House and…"

"No need." House approached them, with Wilson just behind him. "He called me from the ambulance." He looked seriously at Cameron. "How bad?" he asked, indicating the gurney surrounded by activity.

"I need to get in there – hold on. Stay with him." She looked pointedly at her former boss, and with an unspoken _Try to be a human being _as a warning, she headed into the fray.

Taub looked dreadful. House tried not to let his expression slip as he took in the blood-stains on Taub's clothes. Blood that should have been inside Kutner's body where it belonged. His insides were churning at the idea of someone shooting his carefree, happily-insane mentee. He wanted some answers, and he wanted them now. But upon seeing his stricken employee standing by so helplessly, watching his friend's life drain out of him, he wasn't sure he could expect those answers as expediently as he had hoped.

"Taub." House spoke quietly and directly, hoping to draw Taub's attention. The plastic surgeon's eyes, wide with fear and confusion, were darting around like hummingbirds; from the huddled clump of medical personnel trying to save Kutner's life, to his boss's probing blue eyes, to the floor, back to the huddle. He looked ready to jump out of his skin. _No wonder Cameron had shuffled him to the side, he's got the yips_, House realized. He tried again.

"_Taub_." He made his voice a little more forceful this time, and put his hand out on the smaller doctor's shoulder to steady him, to make him focus. Taub practically jumped at his touch, as though House had suddenly snuck up on him.

"Was he able to say anything? Anything about what happened?"

Taub shook his head. He finally managed to speak in halting sentences. "Door was locked…went and saw him…it was cold inside." Taub took a deep, shaky breath. "He had the phone in his hand. I think he tried to call for help. I tried to stop the…the, uh, the bleeding from the…the…there was a lot of…" he stammered off, as his eyes went back to the throng.

House had never known Taub to have such difficulty speaking before. To be honest, it was as unsettling to him as the bloodstained clothes. He didn't like being unsettled. Wilson suddenly appeared by House, holding a small cup of water out to the traumatized man. Taub took it with trembling hands.

Wilson went into his default sympathy mode. "Ok, Taub, why don't we go sit down over there…?"

Taub shook him off. "No. I don't need to sit. I can't sit...can't_...think_._"_ Wilson tried to coax him, but he staunchly refused, like a petulant child who didn't agree with his appointed bedtime. House chalked it up to the emotional strain he had just endured. This wasn't the time to argue about where they should hang out until Kutner was stable. "Wilson, he's full of adrenaline; let him stand if -" he began.

House didn't finish his sentence. He was interrupted by a loud, sustained beep. All three spun around to the sound of alarms going off around Kutner. He had gone into cardiac arrest.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Cameron scrambled for the defibrillators amidst the fray, as Wilson tried to hold Taub back. The alarm from the heart monitors had 'awakened' him from his shaky stupor and his adrenaline had skyrocketed. He lurched forward towards Kutner, ready to do – something. Anything. Even if it meant pulling his own heart out and shoving it into the other man's chest.

"Taub, no, just let them do their job!" Wilson said, as he fought with the other doctor. Taub, while more alert, still didn't fully realize that not only was his presence in the trauma area not needed, it would hinder the trained emergency personnel.

"Wilson, get the hell off me, I mean it!" Taub yelled. He managed to shake off the taller man momentarily and raced toward the bed. He came to a screeching halt when he heard Cameron shout, "Clear!"

Kutner's body jolted with the shock. No change.

Cameron charged the paddles again. "Clear!"

In the few seconds it took to shock his heart, every single person in that room who knew Kutner flashed to the time he had electrocuted himself trying to save a patient. It had been a foolish accident – the first thing he had said upon regaining consciousness had been a simple "Oops." But it had sort of set the stage for Kutner's amusing relationship with defibrillators, which became a running joke in the department. Even Kutner himself looked back on that incident with a sense of sheepish pride. Now his favorite hospital toy was being employed on him, for very real, serious reasons. Taub froze with the memory. "Kutner…" he whispered.

Kutner's body jolted again.

And the machines responded by recording his heartbeat. It beat again. And again. He was back.

House exhaled. He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath, and he hadn't realized his palms were sweating as he gripped his cane. What was wrong with him? Kutner's heart had stopped for only half a minute, and here he was sweating as though he himself had been shocking him for over five. He didn't like feeling so rattled. _Damn, Kutner, I'm going to kill you for this_, he thought.

Once it was confirmed that Kutner's heartbeat would remain stable enough for him to be moved into surgery, Cameron gave the order to page Chase and start prepping an OR. The wound in the shoulder had been clean with no major arterial or muscle damage, and had already stopped bleeding, but they still needed to do a scan and get a visual for where the two remaining bullets were situated in Kutner's body. As the staff began to wheel Kutner out of the emergency room for X-rays, they had to shuffle around Taub; he hadn't moved from his spot since the cardiac crisis.

Taub couldn't take his eyes off of the trauma station – the floor that was littered with bloody bandages, bloody footprints, blood, blood, blood. He looked down at himself, suddenly realizing that his clothes felt cold and damp. He saw his trousers stained from the knee down, his white shirt now mottled with dark red, his silk tie (a gift from his wife) now ruined. He stared at his hands, his quick and agile surgeon's hands that had built his career, now shaking uncontrollably and covered in his best friend's blood. Kutner was everywhere, all over him. It was too much. Taub stooped over and vomited on the floor.

As he finished retching, he saw a hand reach out to him with a tissue. Wilson, being the comforter yet again, no doubt. He took the tissue and wiped his mouth. "You done?" Taub looked up in surprise. Not Wilson. It was House who had approached him. He didn't look angry or disgusted; he didn't sound like he was accusing Taub of weakness. He was asking a sincere question. If he hadn't known better, it would have sounded like concern. Taub nodded. He slowly pulled himself up. Wilson appeared again, with another cup of water. Or maybe it was the same one? What had happened to the first?

"I think you should probably go clean up," House suggested quietly. "I'll get someone to drive you home…"

Taub swallowed his water, relishing the cleanness of the cold taste. He shook his head adamantly. "I'm not going home. I'll shower here. I have to scrub in."

House studied him closely. Taub seemed a little calmer, more coherent now. The cardiac arrest had brought him back to doctor mode, however briefly, and throwing up seemed to have expelled the remainder of his shock as well as his breakfast. "You sure you can handle it?"

"Yes. I'm fine. I have to be in there. _Please_."

House considered for a moment. "Ok, but you remember Kutner's life is the priority here, and Chase is in charge in that OR. Let him do his job, and you do whatever he tells you to do. If you start to lose it, get out. I would rather you remove yourself from the room under your own power, but I WILL bring you out of there myself if you look like you're panicking. Understand?" He was speaking as 'House the teacher', an odd thing to do to someone only a few years younger than you. He half-expected Taub to fight him, to butt heads with him as he so frequently did. But this time, there was no argument. "I understand," Taub said plainly. _Thank you, House_, he said to himself.

"OK. Go scrub."

Taub turned and headed for the elevator without another word. He knew he'd better not push his luck. House was being remarkably reasonable with him. It was such a drastic change from how he'd been treating him for the past few weeks, it was a bit unsettling. _I guess that's the effect Kutner has on people_, thought Taub as he awaited the elevator. _His pain turns experienced doctors to jelly and ornery curmudgeons to teddy bears._ The elevator door opened, and he was suddenly face to face with Hadley and Foreman as they stepped off.

"Taub, we were paged, what's – oh my God!" Hadley was unable to disguise her horror as she took in Taub's bloody clothes. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Foreman, as ever, looked grim.

"Kutner was shot. House is over there with Wilson – he'll fill you in. I can't talk; I need to prep for surgery." Taub abruptly pushed past them into the closing elevator and headed upstairs, leaving his teammates behind, bewildered and upset.

Foreman and Hadley hurried towards their boss, who was talking close and quietly with Wilson. "House!" Foreman called to get his attention. "What the hell is going on? We were paged down here, and we just saw Taub. All he said was that Kutner had been shot -" Foreman shook his head, disliking how that word tasted. "I wouldn't have believed it, but his clothes…"

"Yes," House interrupted. "Kutner's been shot. Three times. Taub brought him in. He's in X-ray right now, and then he's going straight to surgery. He's lost a lot of blood, went into cardiac arrest down here a few minutes ago." House pulled out his Vicodin bottle and poured a pill into his hand.

"Dear God…" Hadley shut her eyes and willed herself not to burst into tears.

"Oh, they got him back though."

"Who would do this?" Hadley asked, ignoring House's blasé description of Kutner's condition. She would expect nothing else from him. She still was not fully able to believe that she was looking at Kutner's blood on the floor, on Taub's normally immaculate suit; not entirely sure, despite her medical knowledge, that a person could lose that much out of their body and still be even half alive.

"I wasn't able to get much from Taub. He was a bit out of it when he got here. The police are probably at the apartment investigating, but I imagine it was a home invasion gone wrong." House swallowed his pill.

"What did Kutner have that was worth taking?" Foreman mused aloud, astonished. It wasn't intended as a disparaging remark. He honestly wasn't sure if Kutner, who wore rumpled jeans and T-shirts to work and made Taub pay for his lunch, had any fancy electronics or bundles of cash just lying around his home.

"He was big into collectibles – those can be pretty valuable. Or maybe someone who knew he was a doctor was looking to score drugs." Hadley supplied.

"Ok, there needs to be a drastic change in syntax here," House grumbled. "The next person who refers to Kutner in the past tense is fired. Capiche?" He shook his head. "We'll get reasons later. Right now, we have to regroup. Foreman, get his emergency contact information and call his parents. Don't give too many gory details over the phone; just tell them their son has been seriously injured and they need to get down here. Find Cuddy and send her to the OR theater. Then you and Thirteen stick with our current patient, continue to monitor her condition."

"I'd rather-"Hadley started to argue.

"No. Stick. With. The patient!" House spoke as succinctly as he could, so there would be no confusion or mistake. Sometimes he honestly wondered if he had hired a bunch of idiots whose sole purpose was simply to contradict him at every turn. To his credit, it was an unusual situation, so he tried to keep his natural abrasiveness in check. "There is no medical mystery with Kutner – it was a shooting, plain and simple. I've already got Taub on this, primarily because he's been in it from the start, and I don't feel like battling with him about it. He doesn't need three diagnosticians to handle his case. Get our other patient well, and then we can all chip in for 'get well soon' balloons for Kutner. And this is not up for discussion right now!" House pre-empted Hadley's next argument. "I have a surgery to attend, and a jumpy little Jew to monitor." He limped past his diminished team towards the OR corridor, leaving Wilson behind with them. He didn't have time to slog through all of these _feelings_. His own were giving him enough trouble right now. _Kutner, I swear, if you even think about dying, you are so fired._

* * *

Chase examined the scans carefully. The shoulder wound would just require some stitches at the entry and exit points. It was a flesh wound, minimal damage. The second bullet was lodged in Kutner's sternal area just above the left lung – there was no indication of any shrapnel that could potentially cause heart damage or a pneumothorax, but he'd have to be careful that the bullet didn't break apart as he removed it. It was a very near miss and would need a delicate touch. The third bullet looked to be the most problematic – it had definitely punctured a kidney, and Chase would have to wait until he was inside to know whether it was salvageable or not. Kutner could survive with one kidney, but if the bleeding had caused shock to the renal system, causing toxins to build up, both organs could be seriously compromised. If the intact kidney didn't bounce back on its own, he would need to endure dialysis and the possibly lengthy wait for a transplant.

The Aussie breathed deeply to calm his nerves. He didn't know Kutner well, but he liked him. There was something endearing about him; he was like a hyper little brother that wanted to be included in everything. This wasn't the first time he had been called to do a procedure on someone he knew, but it had never been anything quite so….appalling. Someone had tried to take his life, so much that it warranted the use of three bullets instead of just one. The significant amount of blood loss made Chase wonder how long Kutner had lain there before Taub had found him. How long had he been able to remain conscious but unable to move or call for help?

Chase had to shake off that thought. He went to scrub his hands. As he methodically cleansed his hands in preparation for surgery, Chase did something he very rarely allowed himself to do. He had his opinions on where faith belonged in the practice of medicine. But for the sake of his professional objectivity, as well as for the young man being prepped on the table, he prayed silently while he scrubbed. It was a brief moment between him and The Power that governed the laws of life and death, but it was a moment he had to take in that private place, just this once.

His prayer came to a conclusion as a second figure joined him at the sink. Chase looked over to see Taub, dressed in scrubs, being just as methodical and stoic as him. If Chase had seen him earlier, he would have had to question whether Taub was fit to participate in this surgery. As it was though, Taub seemed ready to dive in as if it were any other day. "Are you sure you want to assist?" Chase asked.

"Yes. I've been told in no uncertain terms that you're in charge and I am to do whatever you tell me in there." Taub had taken the time in the shower to 'replace his lid,' as it were. He wasn't accustomed to displays of emotion, good or bad, so the situation in the ER (which was hazy for him at best) was very unusual. Taub excused it by blaming it on the heightened emotion and the tension of the situation. He had had his little freak-out, and now it was time to be a doctor. He'd never forgive himself if his fear and irrationality cost Kutner his life.

"You have no problem with that, I hope?"

"No time to have problems."

Chase nodded. "Agreed. Let's go." They dried their hands and pushed their way into the operating room, where nurses stood ready to help them into their gloves and smocks.

* * *

His mind afire, House watched from the viewing balcony. He mentally coached his former fellow as he made the first surgical incision into the patient's brown skin, now marred with three black round holes. He mentally analyzed every movement Taub made, ready to pull him out at the first sign of faltering. And he mentally struggled with Kutner, ready to go ten rounds with either God or the Devil (whichever happened to be real) himself if either one attempted to butt in.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter four

Twenty minutes into the surgery, Cuddy joined House at the observation window. She looked at him steadily with concerned eyes, and then looked down at the surgery taking place. "How is he?" she asked quietly.

House kept his eyes on the operation. "So far, so good. Taub hasn't cracked up yet, so that's a plus."

"I'm surprised you let him participate."

"He needed something to do. The more he was left on the sidelines, the more he freaked out. 'Idle hands,' blah, blah, blah. Don't get nervous; I'm supervising. The minute he gets in Chase's way, he's out of there."

Both stood silently, watching. Waiting. Several minutes passed.

"Why three shots?" House said under his breath. He was really speaking to himself, but Cuddy heard and was puzzled. "What?" she asked.

"Why would a burglar shoot him three times?" House's mind was spinning now. "The intruder comes in, is surprised to find someone home, so he shoots out of panic. Of course, the idea of taking anything completely goes out the window, and he just wants to get away scot free. You'd think he'd make an escape after that shot, before the noise brought people running." His brain kept testing clues, as though he was bouncing his ideas off his team. "Two shots would even be understandable. The first shot hits Kutner in the shoulder, but doesn't take him out. He fights, or defends himself, or tries to run, or get to the phone, so the guy shoots again, hitting him in the chest. He's going to go down after a hit like that. So you'd think the intruder would make his escape then." House's fingers itched – he really wanted a marker and a whiteboard right now. Things were too scattered, unorganized in his head. "What was the third shot for?"

"House, I know you're upset," Cuddy said gently, "but only two people know what happened today – Kutner, and the shooter. And finding the one depends on the survival of the other. Please, just wait until Kutner is out of danger before obsessing about why it happened. You'll get your answers."

"Not if the police write this off as a failed home invasion."

Cuddy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's what it was, though. Foreman said -"

"Foreman doesn't know anything except my speculation. But the more I think about it, the more I think we're missing something. A burglar would watch a place for a couple of days before hitting it, learning the schedule of the tenants, their comings and goings. The perp wouldn't enter at a time when someone would logically be home if theft was the goal. Unless he was a complete idiot." House was getting excited. He went on. "And another thing. Who tries to rob an apartment on the fifth floor? First floor is easy access, second floor, ok, _maybe_. You climb up a fifth floor fire escape at 9 in the morning and think you're not going to be noticed, you're taking a big risk. Or you're an idiot. And I already mentioned my problem with the three shots-"

"House!" Cuddy had been trying to get a word in edgewise, which was tricky enough on a normal day, but damn near impossible when House was on a rant like this. "Would it make any difference if it had been one well-placed shot, instead of three? Would you honestly feel better about it?" House just stared at her. Cuddy brought her voice down. "Like I said, we don't know any details. We don't know what time this happened, what the circumstances were. Maybe… I don't know, maybe Kutner went for a run or something this morning, and that's when the intruder entered the apartment. Maybe he knew the person and let them inside voluntarily… I don't know. We're all just speculating at this point. Please, just focus your energy on getting Kutner through this." She gently put her hand on his arm, pleading, for the sake of everyone involved.

House looked at her, blue eyes meeting blue. _She's right_, House thought. _It wouldn't be any easier to understand if it had been just one shot. I'm just trying to sort it out in my head. I can't stand not understanding. _Kutner was just a kid, really – dorky, unusually clever, annoying, and overly-enthusiastic. For God's sake, he was basically the human equivalent of a golden retriever. He couldn't have done anything to warrant this. It had to be just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. House wasn't used to _feeling _so much for an employee. He was genuinely surprised at how upset he felt.

It was just a couple of weeks ago that they had playfully sparred over Kutner's superstitious nature. Kutner had proven to be a worthy adversary in the prank department, and House had respected him for it. Then he had allowed Taub to take credit for his diagnosis on the last case, and had stood up for him once he had gone. That had impressed him too. Not just the cleverness of the diagnostic idea, but also Kutner's willingness to stand up for a friend at his own expense. It was a nice thing to do. Sort of noble, in fact. That sort of naïve kindness was rare. While House would mock that sort of behavior openly, inwardly, he admired it. It was a quality that might not last forever, as the cynicism of age and hardship took its toll. It might get Kutner into trouble someday – _In fact, it may have already,_ House thought as he watched the surgical ballet unfold below him.

* * *

Nearly three hours later, House wandered back to his office to find the rest of his team. Foreman and Hadley were talking in the office about their other patient, who was apparently experiencing liver problems. They both jumped to attention when House entered, nervously awaiting a report. "Oh for God's sake, unclench! This isn't the military," House rolled his eyes. "The surgery went okay, considering where the bullets hit. Heart and lungs are alright. He lost a kidney, though. Might take a day or so for the other one to start compensating. For right now, he's doing ok. Taub's with him." He looked around tiredly. "Are Kutner's parents on the way?"

Foreman, relieved to know his colleague was still in the land of the living for the moment, responded a bit hesitantly, "We haven't been able to get in touch with them yet."

"You've had three damn hours! What, you tried once, right after I told you to, and then forgot to duplicate the effort?" House was incredulous.

"House, there was only one number listed for them, and the answering machine picked up every single time. We finally left a message for them, but we _are_ still trying. We don't have cell or work listings for them."

"It's possible they got your message already and just jumped in the car and are en route. They live in New Brunswick right? Might be stuck in traffic. Keep trying until you talk to a live human being or until they show up in person, whichever comes first." House turned and headed back out the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" asked Hadley.

"Day sucks. Need coffee. Or something stronger."

* * *

Taub settled into his chair. He was still in his scrubs, as he had to throw out his ruined suit. They had moved Kutner to an intensive care room following surgery and had started him on his third transfusion of the day. His skin was still pale, but he no longer looked gray. His hands were still chilled, but the monitors showed his temperature was only about a degree below normal, so there was nothing to be alarmed about there. Taub had remained with him every moment since the surgery ended. He knew that when Kutner eventually woke up, he would be in an incredible amount of pain, and he might not remember the reason why right away. Taub didn't want him to be alone, in case he panicked.

It was only a half past 4, but the sky was already dark from the inclement weather that had persisted all day. He rubbed his eyes. Worry was exhausting. He finally felt like he could breathe a little bit. The surgery had not had any major complications, though Kutner had lost a kidney. Taub had been professional and above reproach, but he had also held his breath the entire three hours. He still wouldn't feel completely at ease until Kutner opened his eyes and spoke to him, but at least he was out of immediate danger. It was much easier to believe he would eventually be okay, now that he wasn't gushing blood everywhere.

Taub looked up when the door to the room slid open. House shuffled in, with a big white bag in his hand. He limped over to the other chair and sat, then proceeded to silently open the bag and set out various cartons of Chinese food. Taub just stared in surprise. House returned the stare, mocking his incredulity. "Yeah, this is all for me," he said sarcastically. "I'm trying to bulk up. And I know you're not hungry at all after upchucking your breakfast and working nonstop through lunchtime." He opened his kung pao chicken and began to eat, as though dining in a critically injured patient's room was the most natural thing in the world. _Then again, he does snack in the coma patient's rooms all the time, _Taub thought as he resignedly picked out a carton for himself. Upon smelling the contents his stomach let out a rumble, and he realized just how hungry he was. "Thanks," he said quietly. _This is weird. House has spent weeks torturing me, and now he's…what…keeping me company? Or else he's waiting for Kutner to wake up too, so he can pounce on him with questions. Yeah, that's probably more likely than hell actually freezing over. _Taub felt a little guilty for not giving House the benefit of the doubt, but truthfully, it was hard not to suspect his motives.

"Don't know how long you were planning on staying, but Kutner's parents haven't arrived yet," House spoke up suddenly.

Taub mentally went over the past few days' conversations with Kutner. "Wait, I think he said something about their anniversary being this week. He said…what was it? He was going to have dinner with them one night, and then they were going on some sort of getaway, I think? Oh, crap, I'm too tired to remember what exactly he said about it, but they were having some big thing."

"Well, that'll sure put a damper on the romance. They come home from a second honeymoon and find out their son was almost killed while they were gone." House reached for a fork, finding the chopsticks to be rather unwieldy. "Well, at least we don't have to deal with hovering parents trying to smother him right away."

"They'll be concerned, and yes, they'll probably hover, but why would you think they'd be smothering him? Kutner has never said anything to indicate they're like that. I believe he said, and I'm quoting here they're 'cool'."

"Think about it. Kutner came to them a little kid who had just witnessed his parents' deaths. Not to mention he was of a different race, a different culture. You try and tell me he didn't have issues growing up."

"Well, he doesn't seem to have issues anymore. He loves his parents. I'm sure it took a while to get over what happened, but he's an adult -"

"He's an adult who only today became the victim of a second violent crime and nearly died," House interrupted. "If he didn't have issues before, he'll certainly have them now. Who in the world has that sort of bad luck anyway?" House gave a small grimace. "Yeesh, I'm actually rather wishing I hadn't made such a big deal with Death Cat."

Taub actually gave a small smile, recalling Kutner's odd fear of the gray cat that had roamed the office for several days. "I really don't think he minded all that much, to tell you the truth."

They were suddenly interrupted by Cuddy's appearance at the door. "House, I need you."

House waggled his eyebrows at Taub. "I've been waiting for her to admit that all day. That new Axe body spray works just like in the commercials!" Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Don't eat my fortune cookie."

Cuddy waited for the door to close and started walking briskly down the hallway. House had to adapt a bit of a skip to his limp to keep up with her. Cuddy could rarely outpace him, especially in her typical footwear. She spoke hurriedly. "Police are here, need to ask questions."

"Well, Kutner isn't exactly ready for that, seeing as how he's unconscious and all."

"I need you to promise me you will cooperate with them and not be an obnoxious ass."

"When am I ever anything but charming to our boys in blue?" She didn't crack a smile. House was a bit confused. Cuddy had dropped the caring demeanor she had shown in the operating theater. She was still moving and speaking in an uber-professional manner. Was she mad about something? Why was she being so abrupt? He racked his brain for what he could have possibly done to piss her off today, but he came up empty. He had been too preoccupied with Kutner to even look at her breasts.

She stopped just before they exited the ICU wing. "House, for the love of everything good and holy, I'm begging you, please, please, pleeeease, just work with the cops on this, for Kutner's sake?"

She went to open the heavy door to the central lobby, and House followed close behind, ready to call her on this 180-degree shift in her behavior. "Cuddy, I want answers even more than they do – I thought we established that earlier. Why are you so worried I'm not going to cooperate with the police?"

"Well, Dr. House, you can't blame her, given our history," a vaguely familiar voice spoke up just behind him, causing him to whirl around. It was a very rare moment when Gregory House was left utterly speechless.

Detective Tritter smirked at him and smacked his gum.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the reviews and feedback! I confess, I am feeling a bit evil for torturing my adorable Kutner this way (he really was my favorite, and the suicide story really ticked me off! *sniff*). But it's all for the sake of drama. I am a little worried I might be going to that "special hell" after this chapter, though. Don't hurt me, please... *ducks rotten tomatoes and projectile carrots*

Chapter Five

"Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!" House groaned. This was just unbelievable. Inconceivable. It was bad enough that his least annoying employee had tried to take an express train to his next incarnation, but this…this simply had to be a huge cosmic joke. But no, the loathsome entity was actually here, standing in front of him.

_Tritter._

One of the lowest points of his life was utterly wrapped up in this man. He had made House, and everyone House knew, utterly miserable for months, trying to get him thrown in jail for drug abuse. If it wasn't for Cuddy, he would've been in jail at that very moment. Here, he had thought that whole mess was behind him. But there Tritter was, in the flesh, wearing the look of a hungry great white shark who had just spotted a fat kid on a boogie board straying a little too far from shore.

He looked desperately at Cuddy. "Please tell me Ashton Kutcher is hiding behind one of the ferns." Cuddy gave him a look that was both an apology and a warning. "Oh. My. God." House shook his head and squeezed his eyes closed in utter despair. He made an odd noise, somewhere between a growl and a moo. "Of all the cops in the state of New Jersey, they had to send him…" he muttered.

"Now, Dr. House, I need to ask you and your staff a few questions." Tritter stepped forward, still chomping on his Nicarette gum as always, still trying in vain to curb his glee at the doctor's discomfiture. That was what was really irking House. _Listen to him trying to act all professional, _House thought angrily. _Like we've never crossed paths before. He hates me, and I hate him, and he knows that I can't do anything about it for Kutner's sake. The bastard…_

"What are you even doing here? Isn't your normal beat ruining doctors' careers based on personal grudges?" House felt Cuddy stiffen behind him, but he didn't care.

Still smiling, Tritter replied evenly. "No, I transferred to homicide about a year ago. Drug-addicted doctors are small potatoes compared to murderers. At least until they become the murderers themselves."

Now House really wanted to punch him. And he wondered if that was Tritter's true goal – to provoke him into a physical altercation and then arrest him for assaulting a police officer. With every ounce of self-control he possessed, he said with a phony smile, "Well, I think you got your wires crossed. There's been no homicide here. My employee was shot, but thanks to the _sober_ efforts of the doctors here, he is still kicking." _I would rather like to do a little kicking of my own right now. _Assuming the same falsely respectful tone Tritter had employed, he went on. "So sorry to have wasted your time, _detective_." He let the last word drip with bitter honey.

Tritter's smile disappeared and he looked deadly serious. "Dr. House, I know that Dr. Kutner _is _still alive. But our investigation indicates that this was not merely a case of unfortunate circumstances. We have reason to believe that there was a serious attempt on Dr. Kutner's life." House's eyes bulged with surprise. _I knew it wasn't a robbery,_ he thought, somewhat vindicated for his wacky theories. But the feeling faded as quickly as it had come when Tritter continued, "And we think whoever tried to kill him today will try again."

House was blindsided. "Tell me what's going on."

* * *

Taub had finished his Chinese take-out, and his stomach felt better. House hadn't returned yet, and Taub briefly wondered what had become of the case they had started the day with. He felt only slightly guilty that his priorities had shifted so dramatically in the course of a few hours. He assumed that Foreman and Hadley were handling the patient, as he had not seen them since their brief encounter in the ER. Truthfully, Kutner had mattered more to him than the other patient, which would both surprise and appall him.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a soft sound. He looked over to Kutner, and saw the first signs of awareness on his face. Unfortunately, they were signs of pain, and the noise he had heard was an involuntary whimper. "Kutner?" he said softly, gently touching his friend's cold hand. "Can you hear me, buddy?"

Another look of pain tensed his face, and his pale lips struggled to form words. "Hurts," he managed to whisper. His eyes remained tightly closed. Taub felt his heart clench.

"I know, buddy, I know it hurts," he said as comfortingly as he could. He noticed Kutner was breathing a bit harder than before. _Probably from pain, as well as the anesthetic and the multiple transfusions,_ he told himself. Kutner murmured some more words that Taub couldn't quite make out. He gently put his hand on Kutner's forehead, and he whimpered again. It wasn't feverish, but he was sweating slightly. _Geez, if it's this bad now, it'll be even worse when he's fully awake. _Taub adjusted the morphine drip, upping the dosage just a little bit, talking softly as he did so. "I'm giving you something for pain, ok? Just enough to get you back to sleep for a bit. I know it hurts, but it won't in a minute. Just breathe, ok?" He put his hand back on Kutner's, squeezing it gently, and the younger man seemed to relax a bit. In that same slurred whisper, he muttered, "Taub," before trailing off into incoherence as he drifted back into oblivious sleep.

_He recognized my voice, _thought Taub, as he made a note of the morphine dosage on Kutner's chart. _He knew who was talking to him. No signs of post-op infection. So far, so good. He'll be okay…He will._

Satisfied that Kutner was soundly sleeping and in minimal discomfort, Taub suddenly realized that he should perhaps call Rachel and let her know what was going on. He quietly slipped out the door and headed to the lobby to use the phone. She picked up on the second ring.

"Rachel…"

"Chris, what's wrong? I thought you'd be home by now. You sound…"

"Honey, listen. Kutner's been shot."

"Oh my God! What happened?" Rachel had never met Kutner, but felt like she knew him from all of her husband's stories. Her concern was real, for both Kutner and her husband.

"This morning at his apartment… I think someone tried to rob the place, and maybe he surprised them."

"God, Chris! I am so sorry. You…you found him, didn't you?"

"Yeah." The memory was still a little too vivid. "I got him to the hospital, he came through surgery okay. But he's in a lot of pain." Taub paused a moment. "Listen Rachel, I really feel like I should stay with him. His parents aren't here yet, and he's still kind of in and out of consciousness right now. He shouldn't be alone – he's just had this big trauma, and he lost a lot of blood, and I'm just worried that…"

"Chris, it's okay. I understand. You stay with him."

"Really? I don't know when his family will arrive. We haven't gotten in touch with them yet. It might be awhile, it might not be until really late."

"You've had to stay late before. Look, Chris, from what I know of Kutner, he would do the same thing for you if you were hurt and I couldn't get to you right away."

Taub suddenly felt tears pricking his eyes as he pictured his wife's lovely face, filled with worry for him. "Yeah…he would," he managed.

"Just let me know if you need me to do anything. I'll be here whenever you manage to get home." Taub realized this was the height of forgiveness. A few months ago, she would have accused him of having another affair, given that his infidelity had recently come to light. After the utterly hellish events he'd endured today, just knowing that Rachel was patiently waiting for him, trusting in him, made him feel like he had renewed strength.

"Thank you. I love you." It was all he could say as he unashamedly let the tears pour down his face, imagining his arms encircling her.

"I love you too, Chris. Take care."

"I will. See you soon." He hung up the phone and squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling deeply.

"Taub?" Hadley's worried voice made him open his eyes. She and Foreman were standing by him, both looking concerned. "What is it?" Hadley gripped his arm.

"No, it's not what you think," Taub said, hurriedly wiping his eyes. "Kutner's still out, he's okay. I was just calling home." He struggled to smile for his colleagues. "Sorry, it's been a hell of a day." Hadley looked relieved that nothing tragic had caused those particular tears, and she smiled sympathetically and squeezed his hand.

"Here," she said, handing him a cup of strong black coffee. "We wanted to check in on Kutner, and we thought you could use this." Taub smiled his thanks, and still sniffling a bit, took a sip. The hot, bitter coffee definitely had a kick to it. "Have you eaten anything today?" Hadley asked.

"House brought me some Chinese food."

"House did what now?" Foreman didn't even try to disguise the astonishment in his voice. He was actually a little worried that perhaps the strain had been too much for Taub and he was hallucinating Bizarro-House. Hadley's mouth just hung open as she questioned whether or not Taub was trying to make a joke.

Taub chuckled at the expressions on their faces. "I know, right? I was just as surprised as you. But he actually sat with me in Kutner's room and ate chicken. It was quite the surreal Hallmark moment. Then Cuddy came by and pulled him out for something." Taub glanced at his watch. "Actually, he indicated he was coming back for the fortune cookie, but it was almost an hour ago."

"Where'd he go?" Foreman asked suspiciously.

"No idea. But hell, I'm going to go eat that fortune cookie," Taub smiled.

Hadley suddenly caught sight of House approaching them with Cuddy and an unknown man in tow. They all looked rather intense. "Better hold off on the cookie," she warned. "There he is."

"Oh, _HELL _no!" Taub and Hadley were shocked at Foreman's abrupt outburst. His eyes were wide. Neither had ever seen him look so…appalled - was that the word for it? In fact, Taub had never seen him that animated, period. He seemed to have directed his statement to the stranger with House and Cuddy.

"Hello minions," House said flatly as he reached them. There was no trace of humor in his voice. Taub wondered what was going on. House looked defeated, Cuddy looked concerned, and this strange man…well, Taub just plain didn't like the look of him. He gave off a vibe, one that reeked of superiority and just plain not-niceness. And it seemed like everyone knew him except for Hadley and himself. And it didn't seem like a happy association.

"This is Detective Tritter," House grumbled, loathing the name and the person it was attached to. "Foreman doesn't need an introduction, but these are my fellows, Dr. Chris Taub, and Dr…." House trailed off, looking a bit lost for words. "Good God, what _is _your actual name?" Cuddy rolled her eyes and muttered through her teeth, "_Remy Hadley…"_

"Really? Okay then, that's what we'll call her."

The man called Tritter stepped forward and shook their hands. It seemed to Taub that he made a point of literally looking down his nose at him, while Hadley mentally reminded herself to wash her hands after Tritter touched it, leering at her.

Tritter flashed his badge for them, "New Jersey PD. I'm the detective in charge of the Kutner homicide." He smacked his gum loudly as he tucked his ID back into his jacket.

Taub felt more than a little irked by that statement. _After all the hours we spent saving Kutner's life, and this guy doesn't even have his facts straight! For God's sake, acting like Kutner is just a file to be processed…_ "Um, actually, I don't know if House told you but technically it was an attempted homicide. Kutner's still alive." _And even if he weren't, your condolences are the worst I've ever heard. I'm not sure I want you talking to him, _he added silently.

Tritter nodded. "As I was just explaining to your boss here, I am aware that Lawrence Kutner is alive. However," he looked grimly at the three doctors, "Richard and Julia Kutner are not. They were found shot to death in their home in New Brunswick earlier this afternoon."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A hospital is a places where the most momentous events in life happen. Births and deaths occur every moment, bookending existence. They are so frequent here, they become interwoven into the fabric of the everyday and the ordinary; while these events are intensely important for those experiencing them directly, the world still keeps on turning regardless. That is what seemed to be happening for the small group of doctors standing in the lobby. Activity swarmed around them, and those who passed by were too preoccupied with what they needed to do to realize that a bomb had been dropped, and history had actually repeated itself.

Taub could hear the blood pounding in his ears. "Are you – are you sure it's them?" None of this made any sense. The worst was supposed to be over. It had to be a mistake. They were going to straighten everything out, and the Kutners would show up and tend to their son. There was just no way Kutner could have lost a second set of parents to violence. God couldn't be that cruel. Could he?

"Given the identification found on the victims, the representation in the photographs in their home, and their dental records, yes, we are sure." Tritter pulled out a small notebook and started to thumb through it. "They were found around 3 PM this afternoon. Florist made a delivery, found the door standing open. No sign of stolen valuables; jewelry, watches, wallets were untouched. Mrs. Kutner was in the living room, Mr. Kutner by the stairs. Both received multiple gunshot wounds to the chest and abdomen."

_Just like Kutner, _Taub thought. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he looked down the hallway toward the room where his friend lay, mercifully unaware of this atrocious news.

"As you no doubt know, the scene is quite similar to the one being investigated over at Dr. Kutner's apartment," Tritter said, voicing the very same thing Taub was thinking. "The medical examiner will confirm time of death, but the initial estimate is that they had been dead for over 12 hours. It's possible that they did not die instantly - Mrs. Kutner attempted to crawl towards either her husband or the telephone, judging by the trail of blood. She didn't get very far." Taub shuddered, and Hadley closed her eyes to hold back her tears. House bowed his head and fiddled with his cane. He had already heard this information, but the second helping wasn't going down any easier.

"So, two shooting events in two separate towns, with the victims all belonging to the same family – I don't need to tell you that this was strategically planned. Basically, we are trying to determine whether this was targeted against one person and the others were just collateral damage, or if the intent was truly to wipe out the entire family. I'm going to need to speak to Dr. Kutner, as he apparently has some previous experience with this sort of situation."

"He's recovering from major surgery, and on high doses of pain medicine," Taub said, unsure of whether Tritter was being coldly professional or just plain callous. _Whichever it is, there's no way you're going to interrogate Kutner about his past OR his present with that attitude._ "He'll be pretty out of it for at least a couple of days."

"Well, as soon as he's able to converse, I'll need you to contact me." Tritter reached for a card on the nurses' station desk and scribbled his number on it. "Dr. Taub, you'll need to come down to the station and give an official statement about what you saw at the crime scene." He handed the card to Taub.

"Of course…after I'm sure that my patient is stable." Taub said, drawing himself up to his full height, although it didn't really make that much difference. He just didn't want this guy bullying him.

"I thought Dr. House was his attending." Tritter looked at him evenly.

House sort of swooped in at that moment and said pointedly, "I am. And I work with a team. This is my team. Kutner is of part of that team, too. If he is my patient, then everyone on the team is his attending." House and Tritter momentarily engaged in a silent stare-off, which made everyone else extremely uncomfortable. "He'll come by the station sometime tomorrow," House finally said. It cost him a lot of dignity to say that. He really didn't want to cooperate – it went against every Tritter-related instinct he had. But House had to put Kutner first now, despite his hatred of this arrogant prat. _Is this what taking the high road feels like?_ he thought. _It's very unpleasant. No wonder I never do that. _But the detective was speaking again.

"We also need a positive ID from the next of kin for formal verification – we can transfer the bodies from New Brunswick to the morgue here since Dr. Kutner isn't well enough to travel."

"_Excuse me_?" Foreman asked indignantly. "You expect Kutner to identify the bodies of his dead parents? AGAIN? You DO realize the condition he's, don't you? And I'm not just talking physically, I'm talking mentally, emotionally-"

"Eric…" Hadley quietly cautioned.

"Get someone else. Go do a little detective work and find a cousin, or a neighbor or family friend. You obviously know what happened to him as a kid. Do not put him through this." Foreman glared daggers at Tritter. Everything had been okay; there had been a glimmer of light at the end of this dark tunnel. Kutner's survival had been the acme of all good things, and this harbinger of bad news had come in here to ruin everything. Foreman had never despised anyone the way he despised the detective at that moment. Not House, not his own brother, no one.

Tritter shrugged and finally managed to look a little apologetic. "I realize this is difficult, but it has to be next of kin. There is no one else whose visual testimony would be equivalent. It's unfortunate, but that's just the way it is. He has to bear that burden since he was the one who survived." He put his pen and notepad back into his coat pocket. "I need to make those transport arrangements right now, and pick up the slugs you removed during surgery for ballistics reports. Dr. Taub, I'll expect you to give a statement sometime tomorrow at your convenience. Dr. Cuddy, I would suggest appointing a security detail outside Dr. Kutner's room. Whenever he's able to answer my questions," Tritter turned to leave, "you won't need to look far. I'll be around." He strode to the elevator, and in a rare instance of mental synchronization, everyone in the group rather wished the elevator cable would snap as he got on.

They stood in silence for a moment, each one thinking about the young man down the hall, lost in darkness and dreams. Had they really been foolish enough a few hours ago to think that physical pain would be the worst thing he'd experience when he woke up? Cuddy finally spoke, keeping her voice low. "I'm going to assign a round-the-clock guard at Kutner's room. Make sure you have your ID badges with you at all times. You don't get in to see him if you don't have the badge. Same goes for any nursing staff, and I'll give them only the barest details of this. Don't talk about this situation with anyone else, and do not discuss anything related to Kutner outside of this hospital. I realize what a delight Detective Tritter is, but we need to cooperate with him in order to keep Kutner safe. I know you can appreciate that. Now get back to work, or go get dinner, or go home, and let's all try to proceed as normally as possible." She turned to make her own way to the elevator, shoulders squared and a list of all her tasks formulating in her head.

House was lost in his own head, pondering what other measures he could take, and fumbling for a Vicodin (which he had wisely left in his pocket while Tritter was present), when Taub's voice brought him out of his reverie. "House," he said quietly, almost whispering. "What are we…how are we going to tell him?" Taub looked almost as lost as he had in the emergency room earlier. "I mean, about his parents. The bullets didn't kill him, but I'm scared this might. House, I…I don't know…if he can take it. Not again." Taub was so often a take-charge individual, following his instincts and initiative to various results. He often balked at being under House's authority, having to bow to his whims. But right now, he desperately wanted someone else to tell him what to do. How could he fix this? His eyes pleaded with House to steer him in the right direction.

"It's not like we can keep it from him," Hadley murmured. "It's terrible news, and I can't bear the thought of what this will do to him, but eventually he's got to find out."

"We could stick him in a coma for a week or so," suggested House, almost to himself. At the astonished looks of his employees, he backpedaled. "Kidding! I was, um………kidding. Look, it's going to be devastating no matter when Kutner hears it. But I don't want him getting a blow like this so soon after his surgery. Wailing and gnashing of teeth have a way of impeding the healing process. We wait; don't let Tritter anywhere near him, let him heal physically for a few more days before we spring it on him."

Foreman looked dubious. "You don't think he's going to wonder why his parents haven't come to see him, or at least called?"

House knew he was right. Kutner might not pick up on it immediately, in the post-operative haze of pain and medication. But that haze wouldn't last. And Kutner would start asking questions – _always with the questions_. "Ok, we're going to do a little spin on the wisdom of the 'Don't ask, don't tell' adage of our armed forces," House said finally. "He doesn't ask, you don't tell. He asks…you tell me, and I'll tell." _After I ask Wilson what the hell I should do…_

Tbc…

**Author's Note:** And I will go ahead and say that while my medical knowledge is sketchy, my legal/criminal-investigative knowledge is virtually non-existant outside of an occasional Law and Order or NCIS episode. So that's just a big ole "SORRY" all around for major errors. Bear with me - my only excuse is that it's fiction!


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** Most of what I have written so far has been written over the course of a couple of weeks, while on several long flights taken while my grandfather was dying. So the updates might start coming a little more slowly now. But bear with me, and keep the reviews coming! Thanks for the support.

Chapter Seven

There was an epic struggle to open his eyes, as if someone had woven his eyelashes together into a big tangle. It was hazy and dark. A few hesitant, slow blinks and his vision became a little more focused, though still in shadow. He was staring at the ceiling, which meant he was lying on his back. Obviously he was not in his own bed – he always slept on his stomach. He could feel the cold oxygen from the plastic nasal cannula fill his nose as he breathed quietly. It was a little itchy.

He turned his head, which felt like it weighed twenty pounds, slightly to the right. There was a large window with the blinds partially drawn. It was dark outside. It was either very late at night, or very early in the morning. Closer to him were humming monitors, illuminated by the faint light of a computer screen slightly above him. Someone's vital signs were glowing brightly on it. _Mine_, realized Kutner. He looked at the numbers, decided his BP was a little lower than usual but still within normal limits, then turned away again. In this dim light, the glow of the monitors made his eyes hurt.

He turned to investigate the left side of this dark, cocoon-like room. The first thing he noticed was….Taub? The surgeon was dressed in scrubs, seated in one of those uncomfortably hard chairs they keep in hospital rooms, which was further indication of where he was. Taub appeared to be asleep, but Kutner couldn't fathom that he was actually comfortable. The crook of his arm was folded on the back of the chair, and his head was resting on it at an awkward angle, like a bird with its head tucked beneath its wing. _Why on earth is he sleeping like that? He's going to look like a question mark in the morning. _"Taub." His own voice startled him. It wasn't louder than a gravelly whisper. He swallowed a few times and tried again, managing a little more sound. "**Taub.**"

Taub jolted awake and sort of slid out of the chair in an unintentionally comical manner. As soon as Taub realized Kutner was awake, he stumbled to the bed, bleary-eyed. "What? What? What is it? You okay?" he jabbered urgently.

Kutner nodded meekly, and murmured, "Are _you_ okay? Do you need a pillow?"

Taub was speechless. "Do I…" He couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. _Is he serious? He's lying here with bullet wounds and one working kidney and he's concerned about my comfort? _It was the most normal thing in the world to expect from Kutner. "You thought you'd give me a heart attack by offering me a pillow?"

Kutner gave a feeble smile. "Sorry. I didn't know you were going to be so jumpy. But hey, now that you're awake, can you-" Kutner struggled to sit up in an effort to find his bed control. That movement turned out to be a huge mistake. White-hot pain shot through his right arm and down his chest and back. He was unable to keep from crying out as he fell back against the pillows, fire coursing through his muscles.

"Ok, hang on," Taub attempted to resettle Kutner into a less offending position, wishing he hadn't allowed him to move so quickly. "You need to try to be still."

"Holy crap, that was really stupid," Kutner managed to grunt. He found that he was perspiring, and he tried to focus on breathing normally. "God, that was…ah…not cool. Yeow." He hissed through his teeth. _Ok, it's fine if I don't move. So…I guess I just won't move. Ever._

Taub began to fiddle with the morphine. "No, it's fine for right now," Kutner told him.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, just…" Kutner took another shaky couple of breaths. "Just give me a minute…. Ok. It's… it's better now…. I'm good…"

Taub watched Kutner's vital signs return to normal. "Well, you won't be doing that again anytime soon. Here, let me just…" Taub began to fiddle with Kutner's hospital gown.

"Dude…What are you doing?" Kutner watched him suspiciously.

"Well, I'm trying to see if you ripped any of your stitches out with your little attempt at being athletic. Hold still, it'll just take a second." He pulled aside the bandage on Kutner's chest, and examined the tiny black threads holding the wound together in the dim light. It was oozing a little blood, as any fresh post-op scar would, but a little fresh gauze would help that. "What were you going to say before?"

"Just wondering what time it was." Kutner watched the surgeon's every move, unable to take his eyes off the dark gash in his body.

"A little after 3 AM." Taub quickly changed the dressing on the incision and carefully replaced the bandage. He then moved to check the shoulder wound when he heard Kutner ask quietly, "Taub, what happened to me?"

Taub pulled back a little and looked at Kutner's face. He seemed unsure. His eyes, filled with physical pain, also shined with confusion and fear. Suddenly the boyish-looking doctor looked even younger. _Like a six-year-old who just saw his world fall apart and no one has explained why, _Taub thought with a pang in his heart. He sat gingerly by him on the bed, careful not to jostle his friend.

"What do you remember?" He held his breath, unsure of what Kutner would be able to recall.

Kutner quietly studied the ceiling for a moment, searching for the reason. It didn't come easily. Why was that? "It's all in pieces." He glanced down at himself, eyeing the heavy bandage covering his sternum, and the beginnings of another one close to his right shoulder. The tight feeling in his side indicated there was at least one more tape-covered bandage a little lower down. He knew he had gotten hurt somehow, but neither the details nor the big picture were forthcoming to his mind. "Something hit me in the chest; it was like it threw me down. I remember…being really cold. I remember you." Kutner looked at Taub searchingly. "I heard your voice, but I couldn't make out all that you were saying." He stared off again, sifting through the scraps and flashes of memory. "Did you say something about my jacket?" That didn't seem to fit.

Taub first looked surprised, then almost smiled once again. "Um, yeaaaah. That gray sweatshirty-looking one you wear so much. I kind of…owe you a new one."

"Why, what did you do to it?"

"Kutner, I…Ok, I need you to stay calm while I tell you this. You were kind of…" Taub steeled himself, refusing to chicken out. "You were shot."

Kutner blinked rapidly. He struggled to comprehend what Taub was saying as he tested it against the sparse flashes of recollection he possessed. The sharp force that had thrown him to the floor. The popping sound that had seemed so very familiar, like something from a dream he had a lifetime ago_. Taub used my jacket to slow my bleeding…I could hear him talking to me, trying to keep me alive. _"How many times?" he asked, wondering about the bandages.

"Three bullets. One went right through your shoulder and out your back, one hit your kidney. Chase tried to save it, but with the shrapnel damage, it had to be removed. I'm sorry." Taub looked apologetically at him. "But it looks good. I mean, you'll function normally, even with one kidney." Kutner nodded, not meeting his eyes. "What about the third bullet?" Kutner asked quietly.

"That one went in to your chest, just to the left of your sternum. There wasn't any damage to your lung, no fragments that I could see…"

"You operated on me too?" Kutner looked up at him.

Taub nodded. "Well, Chase was in charge, and I was really just there to make sure he didn't stitch his initials into your skin. He didn't, by the way."

Kutner smiled a little bit at that. Then he became serious once more, and asked, "Why did this happen? I can't remember who…It happened so fast…" He trailed off.

Taub swallowed. He decided to answer the question as honestly as he could. "I don't know. I got there too late. The door to the fire escape was open – they must have gone out that way. I don't know why it happened. I've been trying to figure it out all day, and I wish I could explain it. Nothing about today is right."

Taub grew silent. Kutner saw that he was processing something in his mind, and he had rarely seen the plastic surgeon look so visibly strained. He was always so professional, and sometimes seemed cold and distant because of that. It was both a normal personality trait for a busy doctor, and also just part of who Taub was. Kutner had accepted that about him, and knew that he didn't let people in easily. But that didn't mean he didn't care about them. Knowing he was unaccustomed to demonstrative feelings made seeing so much pain, written so plainly on his face, an almost alarming surprise. He was completely disarmed; something had finally punctured the metaphorical lid that tightly sealed in his emotions. _Did I do this to him? _

Several minutes passed with Kutner watching and waiting for Taub to continue, and Taub fiddled with a loose string on the blanket he was sitting on. Just as Kutner was getting ready to ask Taub what he was thinking about, he whispered, "Kutner, I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"For…" Taub paused. "For pushing you away when you said you were my friend. For taking your diagnosis. For being just a colossal jerk to you these last few weeks. I was going to apologize to you this morning, then House sent me to find you. When I saw you…you were hurt so bad, and…" Taub felt himself choking up at the memory, yet again. "You really scared me today. I thought we were going to lose you. I kind of freaked out, and I wasn't sure I was going to make it through your surgery." Taub wasn't able to keep a tear from sliding down his nose and falling onto the blanket. "I've never felt so useless before… all I had been able to think about was whether you'd forgive me for being so stupid and then this happened, and I knew the last thing I had said…"

"Chris." The sound of his first name made him look up, such an odd sound at his workplace. Kutner's eyes were also moist, and he looked at him intently. "There isn't anything to forgive, you know. You acted on impulse because you had to prove you wanted this job. I was surprised you did it, but I was glad, too. I didn't want you to leave. Work wouldn't be as much fun if you weren't here to talk to. I was happy to give you the credit if it meant you'd stay with the team. And I think you've more than atoned for a little fib. You saved my life today." He gave Taub a wobbly smile.

Taub's tears flowed freely now. He heard Kutner chuckle a little, saying, "I really hope House has gone home, so he doesn't see us being such wusses."

And Taub finally laughed through his tears. He wiped his eyes and reached for a box of tissues on the nearby table. "Oh, God help us! Can you imagine the mocking? He'd say something about his all-female team and ask if we could braid each other's hair. Not that he or I have much to work with. "

Kutner laughed too, wincing. "Ah, ow!" It didn't hurt as bad as when he moved, but the laughter caused him to tear up further from the sting of his injuries.

Taub noticed, and adjusted level on the morphine drip on the IV. He was making Kutner too animated far too soon; he needed rest. "Actually, I think you've completely freaked House out too. He was actually very _caring _today." He handed Kutner a tissue to wipe his eyes.

"Yikes, sorry I missed that. How weird was it?"

"Beyond surreal. He even brought me food while I sat with you after surgery. I think he was trying to keep me company. Most awkward bonding experience ever."

The higher morphine level was beginning to cloud Kutner's vision. "You'll miss it when he's back to being jerky."

"Well, I will take even the most evil version of House over that detective. Comparatively, House on a bad day is sunshine and lollipops."

"What detective?" Kutner asked sleepily.

_Crap, I shouldn't have said that_. Taub chastised himself. He had allowed himself to relax, and his preoccupation with tending to Kutner's needs and keeping the mood light had led to an uncharacteristic slip of the tongue. _He's starting to fade again, maybe I can get around it, make him forget he asked. It's too soon. _"You sound like that morphine is working pretty well now. Why don't you try to get a little more rest?" Taub picked up Kutner's chart to record the dosage change as Kutner, entering that peaceful drug-induced happy place, smiled goofily and said, "Okie-dokie." His lids were growing heavy again.

Taub made a few more notes in the chart about pain levels and vital stats, and then headed back to his chair. He was trying to recreate his prior position, which had only been slightly less uncomfortable than the myriad other ways he had tried to sit, when he heard another quiet "Taub." He looked over to Kutner once again, and Kutner had managed to slip his second pillow out from behind his head without aggravating his wounds too much. He sleepily offered it with his good left arm holding it out limply. "Since you're staying…" Taub took the proffered pillow and nodded a quiet thanks to Kutner, who was already more than halfway to La-La-Land. The pillow, when squished in half, made his original sleeping position easier on his neck, just as Kutner had anticipated.

Taub wasn't a religious man; he had never been sure if God existed. Today had definitely been one of those days that would make you doubt your faith, if you had any. Each little blessing had seemed counteracted by something worse. Just like now. Taub had lifted one burden on his heart – apologizing to Kutner for his social transgressions – and had received the forgiveness he had started the day seeking. He still had another, greater burden to carry though – the knowledge that Kutner's family had been ripped from him, yet again. As Kutner had thanked him for saving his life, Taub had wept. They weren't tears of happiness, or humility, or relief that he shed. Instead, he had openly cried for Kutner right in front of him, for the kind-hearted young man who still didn't know that what had happened to him had been a deliberate attack; that his parents had paid the ultimate price in a similar attack, and no one knew why. It was so hard to believe in a benevolent Higher Power when such pain was thrown upon someone so undeserving of anything but good. _I won't be able to protect him from this forever. A few days, if we're lucky. God help us, indeed_, Taub thought sadly, as he tried to catch a few more minutes of sleep_._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Meanwhile, across town, House was still tossing and turning. This was going to be one of those nights that sleep escaped him, though in a rare exception to the normal rule of his insomnia, it was not his leg pain that was keeping him up. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the situation with Kutner. As with any particularly complex puzzle, his synapses were firing at an incredible rate, refusing to let his exhausted body relax. There were too many questions. House had kept a large writing pad by his bed, and every time he came up with a new one he wanted an answer to, he would turn on the light and write it down. He had been doing that sporadically throughout the night, ever since he had gotten home. He was beginning to wish he had a whiteboard in his bedroom, as he now had about twenty pages of various topics. Front and back.

_Motives for murder: Jealousy, revenge, money, drugs, power_

_Which of those applies to Kutner? Reasons why/Reasons why not_

_List of Kutner's enemies?_

_If Kutner was not prime target, which parent was? Why? _

_If parents were target, why travel all the way from New Brunswick to shoot Kutner too?_

_Was Kutner supposed to have been with his parents at the time of their shooting?_

_More than one assailant? Who pulls the strings?_

_What connection, if any, to the murder of biological parents 22 years ago?_

Each page dribbled off into lists, diagrams, supplementary questions, refuting evidence, and one rather detailed, unflattering sketch of Detective Tritter as one of those Orc–things from Lord of the Rings. House was particularly proud of that little doodle. In the back of his mind, he thought Kutner would get a kick out of it.

He kept at it until the black sky began to fade to light grey. He glanced at the clock and sighed. It was 5:15. He rubbed his eyes in frustration, deciding he might as well go to his office and see if he could organize these thoughts on his trusty whiteboard.

Half an hour later, he walked through the doors at PPTH. The halls were still fairly deserted, with only the remaining night personnel on the clock. He went into his darkened office and pulled out his Kutner treatise and began to transfer each item of note to the whiteboard, rewording this question, throwing out that conjecture, throwing out one pen when the ink ran out. It only took him a little over an hour to fill the board with his most microscopic penmanship. After he ran out of room, he stood and stared at it, waiting for his epiphany. Nothing.

House rummaged around in his desk drawer, looking for his seldom-used ID badge. He found it buried under an ignored summons to jury duty and a glossy magazine, both from two years ago; he picked up the badge and the magazine and hobbled out of his office toward the elevator.

He made his way through the IC-Unit, flashing his ID to the young, gangly security guard stationed in the hallway beyond Kutner's door. Mentally, he was appalled. _Great, Cuddy, put the guy whose voice hasn't changed yet on protection detail –he's REAL scary! The guy has to handle a weapon effectively before he ever learns how to unhook a girl's bra? I'm sure Kutner feels safer already. _House entered the darkened room quietly. Kutner lay quietly, still sleeping as the monitor hypnotically pulsed with his even heartbeat. Taub slept nearby, scrunched up awkwardly in a chair with a pillow, snoring slightly. House wondered if he had been there all night, then dismissed that thought as being completely obvious. Of course Taub had stayed – probably from residual guilt as much as concern. House poked the surgeon lightly with the end of his cane.

Taub snapped awake, blinking at the sudden return to awareness. His eyes automatically focused on Kutner first, who seemed to be resting comfortably. He turned to face his boss, who indicated they should talk outside. With another glance at Kutner's unwavering vital signs to reassure himself that he could step away for a moment, Taub reluctantly joined House in the hallway.

"You've been here all night?" House asked as he pulled out a pill.

"Of course," Taub said quietly as he rubbed his aching neck. The pillow had been helpful, but sleeping in a small plastic chair was not conducive to a restful night. "He woke up for a little while, a few hours ago, and he seemed…like Kutner," Taub smiled. "He offered me a pillow, thanked me for finding him, got a little overconfident and tried moving too fast, which of course was incredibly painful, so-"

"Did he say anything?"

"Huh?" Taub was momentarily confused by House's interruption. "Wait, you mean about the shooting?"

"No, about Obama' new puppy. _Of course_ about the shooting!" House was growing impatient. Taub finally realized what House was driving at. He shook his head.

"No, he doesn't really remember it. He knew something happened but he can only recall bits and pieces. I told him what I knew. Just what I knew about _his _attack," Taub amended when seeing House's brow crinkle in surprised irritation. "I didn't say anything about his parents. I…couldn't." Taub looked away uncomfortably. "House, he hasn't asked about them yet, but he will soon. He's going to know something's up when he doesn't get any contact from them. I know you said you were going to be responsible for telling him when he finally does ask, but…how are you going to do it?"

Taub was secretly worried about leaving such a complex, highly delicate task to House. As callous as House could be sometimes, he did seem genuinely concerned about Kutner's welfare. That was to his credit. _But a leopard can't change his spots_, Taub thought anxiously_. Even if he does try to be sensitive, with as much kindness as he can possibly muster, it's too foreign to him. He'll botch it somehow and Kutner will be ready to jump out of a window. _Taub had no way of knowing that those worries were being shared by his employer; that House, in addition to the conspiracy theories he'd been devising all night, had tried writing several scripts for the difficult conversation he would have to have with the bereaved doctor. All his attempts had seemed forced and clumsy on paper. How much worse would they sound coming from his own mouth, which was most comfortable issuing cutting words of derision and sarcasm? He needed coaching from Wilson; hell, even Cameron would do in a pinch.

House decided not to voice these concerns to Taub. "I'll find a way," he answered simply. "In the meantime, why don't you go home?"

"I don't need to-"

"Oh come on. You've been here for almost 24 hours, you have no clothes, your car is still over at Kutner's place probably plastered with parking tickets, you slept in a chair all night. Kutner's okay. He's not going to spontaneously combust if you go home for an hour or two. You know he'd tell you to go."

Taub rubbed his tired eyes. He had been set to protest, but House was right – he didn't have any clothes aside from the surgical scrubs he was still wearing, he didn't have his car, and he was aching from his vigil in the chair. Plus, Kutner did seem to be doing fairly well. He was sleeping comfortably, and with any luck, he was so doped up on pain meds he wouldn't even notice if Taub ran home for a quick breakfast and a shower.

"Someone has to watch Kutner."

"Why? Is he going to do a trick? Because that spontaneous combustion thing would actually be really awesome to see, and somehow I think Kutner would be the one to figure out how to do it."

"He _did_ almost rip out his stitches last night, before he realized where he was. I don't want him to try that again. I don't want him to be alone, just in case he thinks he's stronger than he is." Taub said, unsure.

House had anticipated Taub's reluctance. He waved the old magazine from his desk at him. "I've got some reading to catch up on. He'll probably sleep for several more hours and I'll sit quietly in the room and ignore him. Ok?"

Taub knew House wouldn't let Kutner hurt himself, in spite of his seemingly careless attitude. He nodded in agreement, but said, "I'll only be a gone a little while. Tell him I'll be right back. I need to get a cab to my car, and I can maybe stop by the police station and get my statement out of the way, then…"

"Don't need an itinerary! Tootles." House waved him away. It took all of Taub's energy to turn and walk down the hall, but he still couldn't resist turning and looking anxiously back at his boss.

_Geez, like a mother hen, _thought House. _Wonder why he never had kids._

House slid quietly back into the hospital room. After glancing through Kutner's medical chart, mentally gauging how much morphine he had received in the past four hours, he sat down in one of the plastic chairs, propping his leg up on the one Taub had claimed, and settled in to read about the buzz-worth films for the 2007 Oscars.

He allowed himself to get lost in the frivolous fluff of the past, thus losing track of time. It wasn't until he heard a loud, wordless yelp, followed by warning bells from the various machines, that he came crashing back to the present. He looked up in surprise to find Kutner writhing and struggling with something unseen, his face twisted in fear and pain. His heart rate was rising much too fast. As House jumped to his feet as quickly as his bad leg would allow, Kutner screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter nine

_After he finishes his cereal, he puts his bowl in the sink and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth. As he brushes to the rhythm of a lame pop song that has been in his head for two days, he pauses a moment. He thinks he hears a sound over the running of the tap. He shrugs it off, believing it to be someone moving around in another apartment with an identically creaky wooden floor. He continues brushing. Rinse, spit, rinse again. He wipes his mouth with one of the little hand towels his mother had insisted on buying for him when he moved in, harping on how he needed 'nice towels for company'. He walks out of the bathroom, flicking the lights off as he goes. He stops short, alarm bells ringing in his head, his heart starting to race. Standing in front of him is a stranger. A guy about his age. Holding a gun aimed at him. He goes cold. __**No, no, no, no. Not again**__, he thinks. __**Please not again.**__ He swallows and raises his hands to show he isn't armed, __**"What do you want?" **__He thinks maybe the guy just wants to rob him; he's ready to give him whatever he demands. The guy looks blankly at him with lifeless eyes and cocks the gun and says, __**"Your death."**_

_There is no time to react as two loud pops are heard, one right after the other. He feels his body twist as something first crashes through his shoulder, then something else slams into his side. The force throws him to the floor. He screams but cannot hear anything. He can't find his breath, can't move his body. He can only see what is directly above him, in a strangely hyperfocused sort of tunnel vision. He sees the stranger again, standing over him. The assailant aims the gun, and for a split second, something appears familiar about that expressionless face. The stranger speaks again, cryptically. __**"I'm sorry they got in the way; it was just supposed to have been you." **__What does that mean? He doesn't understand. But he has no time to think or to question, because the gun goes off a third time, sending a fierce arrow of fire into his chest. He screams again… _

"Kutner! Kutner! Hey, wake up!"

Kutner jolted awake, breathing hard. His eyes wildly scanned the room before he realized where he was. He heard the beeping of the monitors, which matched his raging heart beat by beat. He turned to the figure who was firmly gripping his good shoulder. He was astonished to see familiar blue eyes filled with….concern?

"H-House?" he asked shakily.

"You're fine, it was just a nightmare. Calm down."

Kutner was edgy and disoriented. His empty stomach was tightening, and his breathing felt labored. "Please, I…I need to…sit up." He remembered the sting from his overzealous movements several hours ago, and tried to remain calm as his hand groped for the bed control. House did it himself, raising the head of the bed a few inches. He recognized that all-too familiar look on the young man's face, and quickly grabbed a small plastic basin from the equipment cart. He managed to thrust it in front of Kutner just as the bile managed to force its way up and out of Kutner's mouth. As his employee dry-heaved, House slipped his arm behind Kutner's back, supporting him as his body spasmed. Once he had nothing left to bring up, House settled him back against the bed with a certain gentleness that Kutner would never have guessed the grouchy older man possessed.

Aching, Kutner squeezed his eyes shut as he took a deep, shuddering breath. He could feel tears slowly trailing down his face, as he waited for the dizziness to subside. "Sorry," he muttered. He could still feel House's probing eyes watching him. _Oh my God, I just puked in front of House. And now I'm crying. I'm doomed. _How embarrassing this was. He opened his eyes once more, and realized that the hazy light of the early morning was streaming through the window. "What time is it?"

"Quarter after eight."

"What are you – where's Taub?" Kutner asked, noticing, as his head cleared and his heart slowed, that he and his boss were alone in the room

"I sent him home. He's coming right back after he bathes and changes clothes. Those ladies' petite scrubs he wears aren't built to handle a man's B.O. after 12 hours."

"And you're here to…" Kutner paused and cleared his throat, which was even scratchier than it had been the night before. He wondered for a moment if he had actually been screaming out loud during his nightmare. Between that and the whole vomit-thing, he was thoroughly humiliated. House silently handed him a small amount of water in a Dixie cup. "…baby-sit me?" Kutner continued. He took the proffered cup without a word, but didn't drink. _Come on, House, just get it over with. When is the mocking going to come?_

House seated himself back in the chair he had been lounging in when Kutner had become restless with his nightmare. "Only way he'd leave was if I promised to watch you. He told me about your little failed escape attempt last night. You won't be trying that on my watch if you know what's good for you." House picked up his cane and shook it as a mock threat, looking remarkably like an old man chasing children off his lawn.

"So, wait, you came in at the crack of dawn just to watch me sleep? You don't usually come in until 10 or so."

"Well, I don't usually have to deal with one employee getting hurt and another employee attaching himself to the first one's hip. Team's stretched a little thin. Thought I'd get a head start on the day's work."

"You're sitting in my room, reading a People magazine. How is that work-related?" Kutner indicated the glossy-paged tabloid lying open on the floor. It had slid out of House's lap when he had stood to aid the young man's distress.

"People are my business. And actually, it's an Us Weekly. Very significant difference." House reached down and picked up the aforementioned publication, and flashed the cover to prove his point. "Drink your water."

Kutner obeyed meekly, relieved at the chance to get the bilious taste out of his mouth. The water felt good going down his throat, which was still irritated and dry from the surgical intubation and heavy doses of medication. Both men were silent for a moment – Kutner taking careful sips, House watching his every movement.

Finally, House spoke again. "What was it about?"

Kutner swallowed, and looked at him confusedly. "What?"

"The nightmare."

Kutner shook his head. "I don't know. It's gone now. It was really vivid while I was experiencing it, but now it's kind of a blur. I just know it was intense."

"Do you remember anything? Like who did this?" House couldn't help himself. His insatiable curiosity had been pricking at him ever since Kutner had been brought in yesterday. His whole life was wrapped up in solving puzzles, puzzles that involved life and death. There was always an answer, always a reason behind every riddle. Death had fluttered a little too close to someone, House was reluctant to admit, he had grown rather fond of. And while it had spared Kutner, in a bizarre twist of fate, it had not spared the only family Kutner had left. And there was no explanation for it. As much as he wanted to put off Tritter's interrogation of the young man, his own questions were bubbling up past his teeth in spite of his efforts to bite them back.

"Not a lot – it's still really fragmented." Kutner looked a bit guilty. He knew, from Taub's report of what had occurred while he was unconscious, that the normally unflappable House had been unusually disturbed by what had happened to him. _House probably agreed to watch me so that he could get answers the minute I woke up. But I can't give him anything even close to an answer. _"I know the gist of what happened though. I know I got shot. I know my kidney had to be removed. It….really sucks."

"That's it? That's your reaction?" _Isn't he supposed to be traumatized? This is the second time in his life a gun has been waved in his face. He nearly died, and had to have major, life-altering surgery. And it just 'sucks'? Then again, he did just have a night terror. Maybe he doesn't realize how traumatized he is._

"Well, I mean, I AM alive. That's really all I can ask for, isn't it? I can replace any of my stuff that was taken, I can still function normally with one kidney, and I can still walk and talk. It could have been a lot worse. It does suck to be in pain, and laid up like this, but it won't last forever. So I might as well just be grateful for the good things, right?"

'_Could have been worse.' _House thought. _He has no idea how much worse it's going to get. _All this 'counting your blessings' stuff made House incredibly uncomfortable even under normal circumstances, so he figured he would do what he would do for any other annoyingly optimistic patient: change the subject.

"How's your pain?"

"Right now, almost a 5." Kutner gave a small smile, but House could see small lines of suffering near his tired eyes.

"You're lying. I'm currently hovering around 6.5, myself, and I'm not recently short one major organ. You know you're at least at that level. There's no need to put on a brave face – pain is pain. A little more happy juice and you'll be feeling groovy in no time." House said. He turned to check the drip delivering the morphine to Kutner's veins.

"I don't want more morphine."

"Seriously?" House briefly wondered if he could have it, rather than let all that glorious stuff go to waste.

"Yeah. Taub has upped the dose twice already that I know of. I'd prefer being taken off of it entirely and getting some other form of pain treatment."

"Ooh, ooh, we could be the Vicodin twins! It could be like a super-exclusive club! With T-shirts and everything!" House gave his best imitation of an excited high school girl.

"Or you could prescribe a non-opiod, like industrial-strength ibuprofen or naproxen," Kutner said pointedly.

"Aw, spoilsport. I was already coming up with our secret handshake." House shook his head. "I can't figure out if you're being plucky, or masochistic, or just plain stubborn."

"It's too much, and it's not necessary. I can't keep details straight with so much medicine. I don't know how I can talk to the police coherently about what happened when I'm this hazy. And while I appreciate your not making a big deal about the little spew I just had, we both know the morphine contributed to that. Please, could you give me something else?"

House paused and thought hard. Kutner was probably right about the mental sluggishness he was experiencing; then again, Taub might have had a bit of an itchy trigger finger when it came to administering pain relief and given him more than he really needed. Kutner wouldn't be able to easily piece together what had happened, which would hinder the police in their investigation. On the other hand, Kutner's "haziness" was currently the best excuse available to keep Tritter out of the room. This was getting too complicated. "We can limit the amount, gradually lessening it, but you should stay on it for a little while longer. You're not going to get addicted over the next 24 hours. And if the nausea persists even after we lower the dose, we can treat it. But I don't think it will." House looked at the chart at the end of the bed. There didn't seem to be any signs of surgical complications, and Kutner's remaining kidney was functioning at almost full capacity. Temperature was at 99.1, but less than a degree above normal was hardly worth worrying about at this point, though House made a note to recheck later.

Kutner was prepared to argue his point, but then he thought of something else entirely.

"Hey, House, did you call my parents by any chance?

The question hit House like a lightning bolt. _Damn, damn, damn – I thought I'd have more time. _So House began his dance of deflection.

"_I_ didn't. I was busy making sure Taub didn't start rocking in a corner while sucking his thumb during your surgery." _Totally true, _thought House triumphantly.

"Well, did _anyone _call them?"

"Um, maybe Foreman did? Or maybe Thirteen did…" Also true – technically, House wasn't sure who exactly had dialed the number the first time. Or the subsequent times. Or who had left the message.

"Do they know where I am? I hope they're not freaking out…" Kutner sounded worried, not wanting to cause his parents undue panic. _I think it's safe to say, no, they are not freaking out, _House thought, aggravated. _Oh God, I guess I have to tell him. This is it – I said I'd be the one to do it if and when he asked, and he's asking. So that means I have to do it. So…I should just….do it. Right? _House couldn't understand why he quailed at the thought of telling Kutner his family was gone – he delivered difficult news all the time. He was a master of blunt, cold, harsh truth. But he was having a really, really hard time bringing himself to speak the truth to his fellow. It was maddening to him, and there was no justifiable reason for his hesitation. He just didn't want to say the words. He tried to work up the nerve to break the news, reaching down for any scrap of sensitivity and kindness that he could find, when suddenly a high pitched beep interrupted the moment.

House pulled his pager out of his pocket. Foreman. _Saved by the bell. Now that is freaky timing – I just might have to hug him. _"Whoops. Patient dying. I gotta take this." House tossed his magazine onto Kutner's lap for him to peruse. "You stay put, and I'll be right back. Do NOT move from that spot." House once again held his cane up threateningly, and then hobbled out of the room with surprising expediency, leaving Kutner not fully certain if his question had been answered.

_This is fine. __A few more hours won't hurt. Really, it's better if I wait until Taub is there with him. Maybe Wilson can come in, too. And Cuddy, since she's the dean – maybe she can get a referral for a grief counselor. He'll need the support. _He forced himself to think rationally, but the reality was gnawing at the corner of his mind: he was a coward, plain and simple. He knew it; he wasn't proud of it, but he embraced it as truth. He just had to have more time. _I'm supposed to completely shatter a guy's life – excuse me for not wanting to screw it up with my usual verbal diarrhea. _

**Author's Note: **Yikes, I realized I had kind of faked you guys out there at the end of the last chapter...Sorry! :P This was all written together with the previous chapter, and I wanted to keep my chapters roughly the same length, so I divided them when I got ready to upload them here. That's why I went ahead and posted the follow-up. I'm about to go on vacation for a week and I didn't want you to stew about it for too long. More to come upon my return! Thanks for the reviews, keep 'em coming.


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: **I have returned and I am sunburnt to a crisp! However, something about a tropical paradise just leaves me rife with inspiration and I have some really good ideas for upcoming moments in the story! YAY. The only thing is, I have to GET there from where I left off, so the next few installments might be a bit of filler, just to get us to the point where "the proverbial *stuff* will hit the fan," as it were. Bear with me and thanks for your patience.

Chapter Ten

House limped briskly off the elevator towards his office. He needed to grab a transplant petition for the patient. Foreman, after getting past his initial surprise that House was actually at the hospital in the early morning, had briefed him on her deteriorating condition. Her liver was irreparably damaged; they still didn't have a diagnosis, but they wouldn't be able to get one unless they bought some more time. He would have to do some creative thinking to get her name onto the list, given her current status. Oh, well, he had fleeced the transplant committee before, he could do it again.

House stopped short as he entered through the glass door. "Oh, come on! Seriously??" he exploded, surprised and bewildered at the presence of the unwelcome entity lurking in his outer office. He really needed coffee before entering scenes like this.

Tritter turned from where he had been staring at the whiteboard and gave his customary smirk. "Good morning, Dr. House. I see you've been rather busy since our last meeting."

"God, you're just like that cat." House muttered, half under his breath, though he fully intended for the cop to hear him.

"Cat?" Tritter raised his eyebrows.

"You know, the 'cat that came back the very next day? They thought he was a goner, but he just wouldn't stay away'?..... Never mind." House realized that Tritter was not familiar with the old song, so he gave up the comparison. With someone that uncreative, he needed a more blunt approach. "What the hell are you doing in my office?" he asked, making sure to sound as put-upon as possible.

"I'm waiting to speak to Dr. Kutner, of course."

"I thought I made it clear last night, he is recovering from a major trauma and surgery. He's in no condition for questioning right now." _God, can't this twit take a hint? No one likes you, Tritter - go awaaaaay…._House added silently.

"Well, he has to be up for it at some point. I can wait." Tritter crossed his arms and leaned casually against the table.

"That's very comforting, knowing that you cops have the time to hang around a hospital to question people instead of being out there catching the bad guys who put people in said hospital."

"Well, the cops need to talk to the people in the hospital in order to _find_ the bad guys, House. That's how things work in our world." Tritter calmly turned back to the whiteboard. "I see you've been attempting a little detective work of your own. Very impressive – you've done quite a bit of analysis since last night. You even touched on a few things that we haven't considered. I hate to admit it, but you've got some interesting theories here. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. It is a _fascinating_ little puzzle, isn't it? Right up your alley." Tritter glanced back at House, who just stood glaring at him. "This will be fun – working together like this."

The smile the detective gave him convinced House it would be anything but fun. He couldn't stand it anymore. "Look, are you just screwing with me or what?" he blurted out angrily, finally verbalizing the question he had been thinking about ever since Tritter had shown up the day before.

"I'm sorry?"

"Come on, cut the crap, Tritter. Remember what I asked you in the courtroom that day I was acquitted? I asked if this whole thing with you was done, if you were going to leave me alone, or if you would be lurking in the shadows for the rest of my life. You said it was over, and I believed you. Now you're back, darkening my door again like a swarm of locusts, and I just have to wonder what it's truly about." House wearily rubbed his eyes, gathering himself again, and then looked Tritter square in the face, his eyes as cold as ice. He continued, giving Tritter his most intimidating glare.

"There is nothing remotely 'fun' about this situation, and it's exactly those kinds of comments that make me think you don't give a rat's ass about Kutner or his parents; you just want to push my buttons. So enough of all this phony politeness, ok?" House practically growled. "I need to know right now…Are you serious about this case? Because if you are, fine, whatever. I can be professional. I'll cooperate with you as best I can, no matter how much the sight of you makes me want to barf or whack you in the face with a two-by-four. But if you are just using what happened to Kutner to screw around with me, then you're a sick bastard and I swear..."

"House, your suspicions and your threats are grossly misplaced here," Tritter interrupted, dropping his smug demeanor. He moved closer to House as he spoke seriously. "I know we have a rather rocky history, but I am a cop first and foremost, which means I care about justice above all else. I am working the Kutner case because I am a damn good investigator, and I am trying to serve and protect the innocent. Two people have already lost their lives. I am here to get justice for them and to ensure that their son does not meet the same fate. I did not take this case because of the victim's relationship to you. Not everything is about _you_, House." Tritter studied the older doctor closely for a moment. "It is interesting though…." he mused.

House rolled his eyes. "_What_ is?"

"How you're so _willing_ to work with me now. All for the sake of this…this employee of yours. You weren't nearly so cooperative the last time our paths crossed, even when your closest friends were putting their finances and their careers on the line for you. Frankly, I was expecting to butt heads with you from the get-go." The smirk had returned to the detective's face. "You're still an arrogant, selfish jerk; that much is clear. But you actually seem to be concerned for this kid, too. That's one emotion I never saw from you in all our past interactions - genuine concern for someone else." Tritter's eyes bore into him, and House thought that the cop had to be looking for a crack, a weakness, a soft place he could manipulate and exploit to his advantage. "I didn't expect to find humanity in you, after all we went through. What could have happened to you in the past two years to make you actually care about someone besides yourself?"

"Nothing happened to me," House grumbled, turning away to rummage for the transplant petition. He didn't think Tritter really wanted an answer, but he still wasn't going to give this buttmunch any sort of satisfaction. _In fact, that is a lovely word for Tritter – "buttmunch." Heehee, I like that. Who said that word recently? Was it Kutner? Sounds like Kutnerspeak. _"Kutner has had a lot of ridiculously tragic crap thrown at him in his life. Now you tell me some psycho is trying to kill him, and has already wiped out the only family the kid has left. You're surprised that I DON'T want him murdered? Excuse me if I would rather not go through the inconvenience of hiring a new fellow." House whipped out the form he needed from the file cabinet and waved it at Tritter. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going liver hunting." He turned and began to walk away.

"Dr. House, I still need to talk to Dr. Kutner as soon as possible," Tritter called after him. House paused at the door.

"It'll have to wait. He's running a slight fever; it may be nothing, but we need to make sure that he's not developing a post-operative infection. If he is, his kidney could start failing, which we doctors consider a bad thing, especially when you only have one left." House hoped his embellishment of the truth would buy him some more time. Yes, technically Kutner's temperature had been higher than the normal 98.6, but by barely half a degree, and that was after a violent nightmare and a bout of nausea. It was probably back to normal by now. There was no indication of any infection, but Tritter wouldn't have any way of knowing that. "Maybe by tonight if all goes well," he shrugged. _This gives me all day to either work up the nerve to tell Kutner the truth, or find a new excuse to keep Detective Buttmunch at bay. Whichever I can pull off first._

"I'll hold you to that, House. I want to talk to him before the day is over. It's important." Tritter said, with his arms crossed. He looked rather dubious, but apparently he was willing to bide his time. House just hoped he'd bide it somewhere else, preferably somewhere far, far away.

"Fine. Turn the light off on your way out. Please." House added as an afterthought. _Might as well appear to be agreeable. I said I was willing to cooperate. As long as I give him that impression, I'll able to get away with a little bit of lying. Just give me a little more time. It's best for Kutner's welfare, just to let him get a little bit stronger…_House rationalized his excuses all the way to the elevator. As the doors closed, he only vaguely noticed that Tritter had remained in his office, still looking intently at his whiteboard.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Kutner was getting twitchy. The ancient magazine House had left him had occupied his mind for about 15 minutes. An orderly had brought him some unpalatable breakfast, something liquidy, gross, and tasteless and completely appropriate for someone recovering from major surgery. He had managed to ingest about half of it, slowly, over the course of another 20 minutes, before his stomach completely lost interest. Now, here by himself, he was just staring straight ahead, his foot wiggling rapidly back and forth beneath the blanket as he tried not to think about the fact that…well, quite frankly, he was _excruciatingly _bored. He had no clue how long he had been staring like that. Sleep was out of the question. The lower morphine dose meant that he was more alert, and not as fatigued as he had been the night before. He briefly wondered if he had been a bit premature with his insistence that he didn't need so much medicine. The pain wasn't the problem; physical pain could always be bearable, because it was usually temporary and, besides, it proved you were alive. No, the problem was the awareness. Sleep, while not necessarily fun or stimulating, was at least time-consuming. Kutner was a kinetic person; he had trouble just sitting still and doing _nothing_. It wasn't quite ADHD – he could concentrate on things for quite extended periods. But he had to move around. And being confined to a hospital bed was nothing short of torture for him.

His thoughts kept bouncing around like House's red and gray tennis ball, virtually ricocheting off the walls of his skull.

_Bored, bored, bored…I wonder when Taub will be back. Maybe he could bring me a book or something. At least provide some conversation. There has to be someone to talk to around here…There are exactly 121 tiles on the ceiling. I hate that I actually know that now… Didn't Taub say something about a detective last night, someone who really bugged him? Can't remember, but I guess a cop will be by to ask me questions. Hmmm. It would be so awesome if they sent over someone like that hot chick from the Law and Order show – what's-her-fancy-name, the one with the smoking body? That'd be sweet...This room really needs a TV. Coma patients get TVs and I'm wide awake and get nothing. I wonder when I can move into a regular room. One with a friggin' TV in it...House has been gone for a while, I wonder if the patient is okay. I could still participate in the differential – I wonder if he'd let me... Did House ever answer my question about my parents? I wonder where they are. I can't believe NO ONE would have called them. Did something happen to keep them from coming? Maybe I should try to call them, reassure them I'm ok. At least they wouldn't worry. There's no phone in here, but I think I can make it out to the lobby. I feel ok. I bet I can do it – it's not that far, really. It's about time I get up and walk around anyway – need to keep the circulation going, keep the muscles from atrophying. Ok, so just a quick phone call, then right back to bed before Taub shows up to lecture me or House shows up to beat me with his cane. _

Kutner used the bed control to sit up fully. He removed the few wires connecting him to the monitors, making sure to kill the alarms that began to beep as they lost their various signals. Bracing himself and gritting his teeth against his soreness, he very slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He felt his stitches stretch uncomfortably and his wounds throb with the effort. He paused to catch his breath and steel himself for his next move. Then he carefully stood up, using his morphine drip as a crutch. He winced at the stabbing feeling in his body. His side hurt a little worse than his chest and shoulder. _It's okay, I can do this. Just go slow. It's fine….Ow. _

He took a tentative step forward, then another. He was able to bear his own weight, with the support of the IV pole. His legs felt a little achy and wobbly from being horizontal for so long, but he could still shuffle forward. He tried to ignore the dull pain that continued to swirl inside his body and the sweat that was already beading on his skin. It didn't enter his mind that this was probably a bad idea. He was too focused on making sure he didn't fall as he dragged himself across the room.

He reached the door and leaned carefully against the wall as he slid it open. That was a bit harder than he had expected, given that his dominant arm wasn't fully functional. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe a bit slower as he braced his body in the open doorway. This was ridiculous; he had only walked about 8 feet and he felt as though he had just sprinted around the block. His eyes snapped open as he heard a voice ask, "Sir, what are you doing?"

Startled, Kutner opened his eyes and found a security guard who looked all of sixteen years old, attempting to stare him down in the hallway. He started to explain, "I, uh, I just needed to go to the nurses' station for a moment…"

"I'm sorry, sir. You need to stay in your room." The kiddie cop crossed his arms authoritatively.

Kutner was confused. Why was this guy here, in front of his door? Was the hospital in lockdown or something? Why was he confined to his room? "No, it's cool. I just need to run to the lobby for a quick second. I'll be right back."

"That won't be possible at this time. Do you require assistance?" The kid was doing his best to sound grown-up, even though his voice kept cracking around his incredibly prominent Adam's apple. Kutner briefly wondered if he could take the guy down, but quickly dismissed that idea. The last thing he wanted was some Barney Fife-wannabe getting overzealous and accidentally shooting him AGAIN. _I wonder if either Taub or House set this up. They both made such a big deal about me moving around too soon. This is a bit much though, _he though, choosing to ignore the fact that he actually _was_ out of bed and sort of "making a break for it," in defiance of their warnings. And the fact that being up actually _was_ causing a significant physical strain on his body. He tried a different approach.

Assuming his most mature tone of voice, Kutner looked patronizingly at the younger man. He was about an inch or so taller than the guard, and not skinny as a rake, but it was still rather difficult to assert one's authority while barefoot in a hospital gown. "Look, Officer, I am a doctor at this hospital. I am perfectly capable of walking down the hallway under my own power. I have a brief call I need to make, and then I will return immediately to my room. Whoever put you up to "guarding" me never has to know. I obviously can't go very far," Kutner smiled, indicating his attire and IV line. "So just give me five minutes, and I'll be right back."

The guard briefly looked like he was considering it. Then Kutner's hopes were dashed when he shook his head and said firmly, "I'm sorry, Dr. Kutner, but my orders are from Dr. Cuddy. I can't let you leave your room and I can't let anyone in without proper identification. If you need assistance I can call a nurse or your attending, but you'll have to stay put for the time being."

"Dude, come on! It's important!" Kutner exclaimed, dropping his "Trust me, I'm a Doctor" façade. He paused to take a deep breath – _why am I sweating so much?_ – and resume his argument, when a third voice joined the exchange. "Is there a problem here?" Both heads turned to the stranger.

Kutner didn't recognize the man who had walked up to them. He wore a suit, had close-cut hair, and was chewing a large wad of gum. He sort of reminded Kutner of a rottweiler. He was surprised when the man pulled out a police badge and flashed it with his identification. The young security guard stood at attention. "No problem, Detective. I was just explaining to Dr. Kutner that he needs to remain in his room."

"And I was just explaining to the Eagle Scout that I need to run out to the nurses' station for just a moment, because there's no phone in my room," Kutner retorted in frustration, wiping the chilly moisture from his brow.

The plainclothes police officer looked at Kutner and smiled. "Dr. Kutner, I apologize for butting in like this. I'm Detective Tritter, New Jersey PD. I've been here for some time, waiting for news of your condition. I was hoping to ask you a few questions, if you feel up to it." _Detective? _Kutner thought. _Was this the guy Taub was talking about last night? He doesn't seem so bad. Maybe Taub was just overly stressed out when they met and made a snap judgment. _

"Yes, I just need to make a call, and then I will be glad to tell you whatever I can." Kutner said politely, attempting to push forward into the hall. To his surprise, Tritter put a gentle but firm hand on his uninjured shoulder and held him back.

"Dr. Kutner, if you'll forgive me for saying so, you don't look so hot right now. I understand you had rather complicated surgery yesterday, and I think you're stressing yourself a bit too much. Why don't we go back into your room and talk for a bit? You can use my phone if you need to call someone," Tritter smiled sympathetically at him as he attempted to steer Kutner back into the room. Despite House's assumptions that he had no clue about medical conditions, Tritter had seen victims, and even fellow cops, with these sorts of injuries before. He had enough practical knowledge to deduce from the pale, clammy skin and the heavy breathing that Dr. Kutner would probably wind up collapsing if he attempted to walk any further. He had been pleased and surprised to discover the young man alert and coherent, but he would need him to stay that way in order to get his answers.

Kutner, feeling slightly light-headed, decided that perhaps he _should_ sit down for a moment. It might have been a bit of a stretch thinking he could walk all the way to the lobby. Besides, if this Tritter guy let him use his phone, then that problem would be solved at least. He reluctantly allowed himself to be herded back into his room. The detective followed him with a discreet nod to the young security guard, and allowed the door to slide closed behind them.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

House felt like crap. He had the entire weight of the world on his shoulders, and was trying to hold it up with a bum leg. Everyone was expecting him to fail. In medicine, he was a god among men; when it came to personal interaction, he was about as effectively social as an amoeba. He felt like he couldn't win, like people were judging him a coward for not telling Kutner about his family right away, while at the same time just _waiting _for him to ruin it in the classic House fashion. Even Cuddy...

She had only just arrived, just shrugging off her coat when he had burst in with the transplant form. He had rattled off the short version of the patient's history, and handed the form to her. She had agreed to call an emergency meeting of the transplant committee to move his patient to the top of the list. He would have to meet with them later that day to advocate for her. House had been abrupt and single-minded about the patient, while Cuddy had been business as usual, though eyeing House carefully. Just as he had turned to go, she quietly stopped him. "How's Kutner?"

House shrugged. "Doing pretty well. Still oblivious."

"I was thinking of hiring a grief counselor to come in and talk to him, try to help him cope since he'll be in the hospital for a while. I wanted to get your opinion. An opinion based on what Kutner needs, not your own personal feelings about counseling," she added pointedly.

"It might be a good idea. Of course, it should probably wait until _after_ he finds out they're dead. Otherwise," House looked at her with mock embarrassment, "it might be kind of awkward."

Cuddy looked frustrated. House was going into his default mode, attempting to make jokes, avoiding the difficult subject at hand. "House, you can't put this off anymore. I understand how awful you feel for him, and I respect that you don't want to hurt him. But Kutner has to know the truth. The longer you wait, the longer you let him expect his parents to arrive at his bedside, the worse it's going to be. Don't let yourself be so kind to him that you wind up being cruel."

"God, Cuddy, I know, I know! I haven't had the chance to tell him yet. He hasn't been awake that long; I didn't want to have to keep telling him because he was too out of it to process the news. Once is too much as it is. I'm heading up there right now. I'll do it today."

She nodded, though she didn't look convinced. "Good. But House, I'm serious. Don't drag this out. Do it soon, so Tritter can get the information he needs and can actually start looking for the killer. And get out of your hair," she added, as an extra incentive. House gave a vague nod, and hurriedly limped out of the room. He had half-expected Cuddy to follow him out into the lobby, but she had remained in the office. From her vantage point, she had seen who had walked through the lobby doors at that moment and was running after House. She smiled slightly to herself, now a little bit surer that things would somehow work out.

Just as the elevator doors were closing, Wilson slid in next to House, out of breath from his hurry to catch up. "You're here early," he noted.

"Yup."

"Kutner okay?"

"He's doing fairly well considering…"

"Considering he nearly died and his parents were just murdered?" Wilson supplied. House looked at him in surprise. His team had been instructed not to talk about the Kutner situation with anyone. House had planned to talk to Wilson about it all along, despite the warning, but between dealing with Kutner, Tritter, his own obsessive mind, and his other patient, he had not had a moment to do so yet. Wilson met his eyes. "Cuddy called me. She said you might want some help….Do you?" he asked carefully.

House paused for a moment. He had been waiting all morning for Wilson to show up so he could pick his brain. Now his friend was here, already offering his aid without him even having to ask, and House found himself strangely reluctant to admit that he was desperate. He looked at the floor, unsure of exactly why he should be feeling so embarrassed. He briefly thought about being glib and changing the subject, but realized it wouldn't help anything. He finally muttered, "Yeah, I do. I…I don't know what to do, Wilson."

The elevator dinged open, and they stepped off together, moving over to one side to continue talking in hushed tones. "I'm completely stuck. I have no idea how I'm going to break this to him. I don't even know how to start. It's not like ripping off a band-aid and it's over in a second; it's like ripping off a… _head_." House said, defeated. "I almost told him earlier…he was asking questions, why his parents hadn't arrived, and I almost did it. Almost. But I hesitated and then my pager went off, and …damn it, I was _relieved_. I practically sprinted out of the room." House rubbed the back of his neck. He hated admitting all of this to the Master of Compassion. However, a quick glance at the oncologist's sympathetic eyes told him that Wilson was neither about to scold him nor deem him a coward. That was some relief, at least. He continued, telling Wilson about the 'scripts' he had written last night in his Kutner treatise, and how stupid and impotent they all sounded. "He needs to know, and soon, and I _know _that; everyone keeps telling me, blah, blah, blah. But we all know I'm just going to wind up making a huge mess of things." House groaned quietly. "Wilson, I feel like someone is asking me to beat a little baby bunny to a pulp with a baseball bat. Like, what the hell!? I mean, even _I _have limits!"

Wilson put his hand up to quiet the older doctor. "OK, I'm glad to know you have limits – God knows, I have wondered at times. But, House, you do realize that no matter who Kutner hears it from, or how he hears it, he's going to be completely blindsided. This is earth-shattering stuff. It's bad enough it already happened to him once-"

"Ok, see, that's not exactly what I had in mind when I said I needed help. I was actually hoping you would tell me something _helpful. _I can see how you'd get confused though."

"I'm just saying there's no correct way to reveal something like this. It's not your fault you're at a loss. You just need to be as gentle, and compassionate, and supportive as… um…" Wilson trailed off. He hadn't really meant to do that, but he was trying to picture House being gentle and supportive and it was a bit of a mental struggle.

Both men were silent for a moment, both simultaneously attempting to envision the scene. Finally Wilson spoke up again. "Want me to go with you?"

"God, yes!" House rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Actually, could you just go and do it and maybe I could wait in the hall?" House looked for all the world like a child trying to get his older brother to do his homework for him. Wilson put his hands on his hips and gave him the patented look that indicated he was not up for manipulation. House sighed. "Fine, ok. I didn't really mean it… Though I kind of did."

He wandered over to the nurses' station with Wilson in tow and pulled up Kutner's file. "How's Kutner's appetite?" he asked the pretty, young brunette behind the desk.

She looked up at him and replied, "He ate about half of his breakfast. The chart indicated some nausea earlier, but he wasn't experiencing any intestinal discomfort after he ate. And the lower morphine dose does seem to be helping that as well. Pain level was 5."

"Which he is still completely lying about. What's his temperature currently?"

"It was about 99.4 when I checked it an hour ago."

House frowned. That seemed slightly higher than the number he remembered seeing earlier. Still not terribly troubling, but it made him wonder if he should go ahead and start Kutner on antibiotics as a pre-emptive strike against infection. "Have you checked it this hour?" he asked the nurse.

"No, not yet. I wanted to give him some privacy while he talked to the detective."

House's head whipped up from the file, certain he had misheard her. "What?" Wilson looked at him questioningly.

"A police detective came by a little bit ago, asking if Dr. Kutner was awake and if he was well enough to answer some questions." She looked at House with big brown eyes, wondering why the doctor looked like he wanted to strangle her.

"What did you tell him?" House growled. This couldn't be happening. After all that effort, after that whole conversation earlier, Tritter was lurking around here behind his back, manipulating naïve nurses and trying to get to Kutner. _If I had said he had swine flu or some such ridiculous contagious thing, he still would have tried to get in there, the nosy son of a bitch!_

"I said he was alert and stable, and he could have visitors for brief periods. And he smiled and thanked me and went on to Dr. Kutner's room." She looked from House to Wilson, and back to House, a worried expression crinkling her forehead. "Is something wrong? He had all the right identification-"

"Buttmunch is in there?! You….you…_**idiot**_…" House sputtered, as he dropped the folder and bolted as fast as his leg would carry him towards the intensive care ward. He heard Wilson apologizing to the stricken nurse as he chased after the enraged doctor, calling feebly, "What's a buttmunch, House? House, wait!"

* * *

The door to the downstairs lobby flew open as Taub hurried quickly inside, looking at his watch in frustration. Everything that morning had seemed to be conspiring against him. He had taken a cab from the hospital to Kutner's apartment where he had intended to collect his car, only to find it had one of those bright orange 'boots' on the back tire from being parked in a loading zone for too long. He couldn't do anything about it at that moment, so he had gotten _another _cab and gone home to change clothes. His wife had immediately accosted him in the foyer, relieved he was home and anxious for details about Kutner. Taub, remembering Cuddy's admonition to not discuss the situation outside the hospital, had to give Rachel only the barest details. He wished he could tell her everything, wrap his arms around her and weep on her shoulder for the tragedy that had befallen his friend, retreat to their bed where he could truly sleep and feel like the whole world wasn't going to hell. He desperately wanted her sympathy and her counsel. Instead, he could only say that while Kutner was in fair condition, there was a serious problem that prevented his parents from coming. He had begged her not to ask anything more, saying, "For safety's sake, I can't talk about it. I can only tell you that it's very bad. I promise, sweetheart, I swear, as soon as I get the word that it's okay, I will tell you everything. Please just trust me. And say a prayer." Rachel had grudgingly backed off, still very concerned especially given her husband's last statement, but had insisted that Taub sit down and at least eat a decent breakfast. He had obliged.

Rachel had then driven him to the police station where a polite young lieutenant had taken his statement about the previous day's atrocity; meanwhile, Rachel had paid the fines regarding his car. That had been a fairly efficient process, as the Taubs worked together like they used to - a marital team, getting things done. But then he had to wait over half an hour for another officer to drive him back to Kutner's apartment to remove the boot so he could get back into his car. That put him downtown right in the thick of the morning commute. _God, I could have walked the eight miles and been here hours ago_, Taub thought darkly_. _But he had to have his car, as he had no idea what sort of hours he'd be putting in that day.

The truth was, he had grown steadily more nervous during the ride to work, and it wasn't because of the traffic snarl. _Kutner is probably awake by now. I hope he's not hurting too bad. Did House tell him while I was gone? Is he okay? House, please don't botch this. I shouldn't have left – I should have waited until Kutner was awake, should have waited to see if House was going to do it first thing this morning. Please, let me be there when he finds out. I need to be there…_ He hit the elevator button and impatiently waited for one of them to finish its upward journey so it could come back down and get him.

After checking his watch again, seeing the minute hand move another notch, he gave up on the elevator and decided to brave the stairs.

* * *

Kutner gratefully accepted the assistance from Detective Tritter as he settled himself in one of the chairs in his room. As shaky as he felt, he had put a great deal of effort into getting himself out of bed, and he didn't want to climb back into it just yet. The chair would be fine for now. Tritter sat in the other chair and took out a small pad of paper with a pen. "I'm not sure how much I can tell you; I'm still trying to piece things together," Kutner said sheepishly.

"That's perfectly understandable. Just walk me through what you do remember. Every little bit helps; don't leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem. We'll go as slow as we need to." Tritter smiled at him reassuringly, and sat poised to take notes. "Now, tell me what you remember doing yesterday morning, starting from the time you woke up."

"Uh, I remember my alarm going off at 6:30. I did everything I usually do in the morning – made my bed, took a shower and got dressed, had some cereal, went to brush my…" Kutner trailed off, thinking hard.

Tritter watched him carefully. It looked like he was recalling something. "Brush your teeth?" he supplied.

"Yeah…I thought…I think that I heard something while I was in the bathroom…I stopped to listen, but…the water was running and I didn't hear it again, so I figured I was wrong."

"What did you do next?"

"I turned off the light…I went back into my room and… and…" Kutner felt his pulse quicken, as images from his nightmare started to swirl in and out of his mind. "There was someone there…some guy...."

"Did you recognize him?" Tritter kept his eyes leveled on Kutner. He could see the young man becoming tense, but he wanted to keep him talking for as long as possible, so as not to lose the flow of memory.

"No, I… I didn't know him…" Kutner leaned his head on his hand, again marveling that he was still perspiring so much despite sitting down. "He was… I think he was around thirty… white… he had a, a gun pointed at me…" He winced as a spasm of pain shot through his body, and he could remember the feeling of the bullets as they had ripped into his flesh.

He heard Tritter's voice, sounding rather far away. "Dr. Kutner, do you need to stop for a second?" Tritter was loathe to interrupt the young man, but he thought it was best at the moment, since he could see Dr. House and Dr. Wilson passing by the window in a quick hurry to get into the room.

The glass door slid open with such force it was a miracle it didn't break. The _thwack _it made as it reached the end of its runners startled Kutner. His eyes flew open, and after blinking a few times to clear the fuzzy black splotches that dotted his vision, he saw a very unhappy looking House standing over him and glaring, his eyes electric blue. "Looks like you tried to make a break for it again." He indicated the empty bed and dangling wires Kutner had left behind when he had gotten up.

"Wha-? No, I didn't…" It took Kutner a moment to remember what on earth House was talking about. "I just wanted to walk around a little…"

"And how did that work out for you?" House asked sarcastically. _As if it's not completely obvious. He's dizzy, sweaty, his eyes look all glassy, and Tritter is here. Sounds like a real treat. _Kutner merely looked guilty, but didn't have a chance to defend himself because House turned the brunt of his anger on Tritter at that moment, who stood up to face it. "As for you, Twitter, do you have early on-set Alzheimer's? Because I could have sworn that I told you not thirty minutes ago that Kutner was not up for questioning."

Kutner timidly spoke up, "House, it's okay, I'm-"

"Shut up." House snapped. "Well? Did I imagine that conversation happening? Because I would hate to think that you would be sneaking around with the intention of distressing a seriously injured patient behind my back." House's voice was cold.

"There was no sneaking involved, House," Tritter's voice was equally icy, a sharp departure from the agreeable manner Kutner had witnessed up to that point. Apparently House shared Taub's poor opinion of the man, and Tritter was obviously not a fan of House. "I asked a nurse if Dr. Kutner was awake, she said yes, so I decided to go ahead and get the initial questioning out of the way before the inevitable shouting match with you."

"Well, the Moment of Reckoning is here, brother, and I will be filing a formal complaint of police harassment!" House looked like he wanted to beat Tritter with his cane. Wilson, wondering if he would have to physically hold House back, spoke up with a warning tone, "House, cool it."

"There has been no harassment!" Tritter argued, ignoring Wilson. "This is a routine interrogation about the events of yesterday morning at his apartment. We haven't discussed anything beyond that. Although I think I'm beginning to see why you've been so hell-bent on keeping me away, to the point of obstruction of justice." Tritter's face spoke volumes to House.

He immediately lowered his voice to a low murmur, so that Kutner could not catch all the words. Getting up into Tritter's face, he whispered, "He doesn't know."

"I figured as much; I _am _a detective, you know," Tritter replied, also in hushed tones. "Don't you think it's about time he learns the truth? His life is at stake."

"Oh, were _you_ planning on telling him? He shouldn't have to hear it from you." House was whispering as angrily as he could.

"Well, on that point, we are in perfect agreement, House; of the two of us, who do you think should be doing the honors?" Tritter let the quiet question hand in the air between them, and both men were silent, glaring daggers at each other.

After an interminable pause, Kutner broke the incredible tension in the room. "Um, excuse me?" Three heads turned sharply at his voice. They had almost forgotten the young man sitting in the room with them during their clandestine conversation. ""Look, I just wanted to use the phone. That's it. I wanted to call my parents. I haven't heard from them and I was just thinking they would be really worried about me. I'm sorry for causing any trouble, but I don't really see what the problem is here. Detective Tritter wasn't harassing me, House. He was just asking what I remembered about yesterday. I knew I was going to have to talk to the police at some point. It's no big deal. Really." He looked at the three men, as they each looked increasingly uncomfortable.

House looked at the floor, castigated. Here he was, a grown man, ready to get into a schoolyard brawl, and he was forgetting who the victim really was here. His affable employee was sitting in that plastic chair, with his bandages and IV line and his legs poking out from his hospital gown, looking all of ten years old and innocently trying to patch things up between the "adults" in the room. "It is a big deal Kutner," House said softly, still unable to meet the young man's apologetic eyes. "I just didn't want you getting caught up in the middle of a murder investigation so soon after what happened."

"Murder investigation?" Kutner sat forward, gripping the arms of the chair. "What do you mean? It was a robbery, wasn't it?"

House suddenly felt the blood pound in his ears, and his eyes went wide with realization. _What the hell did I just say? He still thinks it was a home invasion? What do I do? _To make matters worse, Tritter found his voice before he could. "No, Dr. Kutner, I'm afraid not. I'm investigating your attack as an attempted homicide in connection to two other murders with similar MOs."

Kutner looked completely blown away by this news. _Whoever that guy was…he __**meant**__ to shoot me? He wanted to kill me? Holy... Why? What did I do to him? What was it he said…? _"Before he shot me…the third time…" Kutner swallowed as he tried to recall the exact words. "He said he was sorry about someone getting in the way. It was just supposed to be me." The hair on the back of his neck stood up. "It was really cryptic and I didn't have time to…process that before… What does that mean? Who was it that got in the way?"

House still looked stricken. He was rooted to the spot, unable to find any words. Wilson briefly wondered if the man was having a stroke. "House. Talk," he whispered urgently, nudging him. House blinked, and sort of came back to himself.

"Kutner, I…" he started. No, that wasn't how he wanted to begin. He tried again, moving closer to Kutner's chair. "Kutner. What happened to you was…sort of… there's a possible connection with your parents." There. He had at least gotten the words out. Now that his brain and tongue were working again, it would be easy. _Right?_

"That's… impossible, House," Kutner looked completely bewildered. He looked from his boss, to the detective and back again. "The guy who shot my parents was caught…he's been in jail for almost 20 years. I just testified at his last parole hearing, like, five months ago. And he worked alone. How could he be responsible for this?"

House winced. _Damn, he thinks I'm talking about his biological parents. That's the kind of confusion you get from being a Super Double-orphan. Crap, I am so screwed here. _"No, Kutner. I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I meant your adoptive parents. Richard and Julia."

"I… I don't understand," Kutner was feeling a little overheated. This whole conversation was too weird. _Why is House acting like this? How does House know my parents' names? He never knows anyone's name...He gave us all numbers during the hiring process for God's sake... __Why would Mom and Dad be connected to someone who tried to kill me?_ They were a quiet middle class couple; Richard had coached his Little League team years ago and was building a boat in the backyard; Julia was always proudly telling her friends about "her son, the doctor," and whenever he visited, she would send him home with at least five containers of home-cooked food, insisting that he couldn't live on cereal. They didn't want him dead. They loved him. He was their son – maybe not by blood, but for all intents and purposes, he was theirs, and had belonged to them officially since the age of nine. What connection could there possibly be here? None of this made any sense, and he felt as though he needed to scream because something awful was about to be said. _Mom…Dad…Taub…somebody? Where are you?_

House took a deep breath. "Kutner, I'm so sorry… I'm afraid they're dead."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"House," Kutner said furiously, through gritted teeth. "I can take your pranks, I can take the abuse….I mean, spitting cranberry juice on me is one thing, scaring the crap out of me in the morgue was funny and all… but, God, what is _wrong_ with you? Why the hell would you even say something like that to me right now? To _anyone?_ I don't-"

"Kutner!" House interrupted, causing Kutner to break off mid-sentence. He sat down in the other chair across from Kutner and looked at him carefully and seriously. Kutner had never seen that look on House's face before. His boss's eyes were filled with remorse, desperation, sorrow…no, more like pity. He didn't like it. House shouldn't have that look. As much as everyone wished he would be kind and emotional, it didn't work for him. House should never have _that look_. House should be irritable, snarky, abrasive. His eyes should be twinkling with mischief or gleaming with a medical epiphany. This was not right. His heart began to race.

House sighed and looked Kutner squarely in the eye. He couldn't waver now. "Kutner, I actually wish this was a joke; it wouldn't be a very good one, and I'd be going straight to hell for it, but at least it wouldn't be real. I wish I wasn't telling you this; I wish it wasn't true. Your parents…Tritter said they were found yesterday, about the time you were in surgery."

"No, they weren't…" Kutner whispered, shaking his head. He had to keep the words from reaching his ears. A blurry memory flashed behind his eyes: _**"Sorry they got in the way; it was just supposed to have been you…"**_

"The police said it was just like how you were attacked. I don't know who did it, or why they did it, but obviously they tried to kill you, too, and we have to-"

"No," Kutner managed to choke out, louder this time, to drown out House's words. He continued to shake his head negatively. The black dots were still dancing in front of his eyes, and he felt himself grow hot, then cold, then hot once again. _Calm down, none of this is real. It's the surgery, it's a reaction to the morphine, it's all in my head. There's just no way this happened again… _

"Dr. Kutner," Tritter spoke up quietly. "I'm sorry, but House is telling the truth. I am so sorry for your loss."

Wilson piped up gently, "I know this is difficult, Kutner, but we need you to try to stay calm."

"NO!" Kutner yelled, snapping to his feet. He nearly lost his balance as the dots continued to cloud his sight, but he reached out to catch himself on his IV pole before he fell. He was on the verge of hyperventilating. "I don't believe any of this! My birthparents are the ones that died! Not them. You didn't talk to them, you don't know them. They're fine! They'll be here any minute and you'll see!"

House stood slowly, his hands up. Kutner was breathing heavily, his eyes wild and unfocused. He began muttering nonsense about the Kutners' 35th wedding anniversary and how they were going to celebrate this week. House had a feeling he wasn't really seeing any of them. He looked at Wilson, passing a message to him with his eyes, and the oncologist easily interpreted it. He discreetly began to move to the supply cart to get a sedative while House occupied Kutner. Tritter seemed to be at a loss. He wasn't entirely sure if he should help or if he should stay out of the doctors' way. As a cop in the field, he had physically brought down panicked criminals before. But he wasn't sure if the methods he used in those situations were entirely appropriate for an unarmed, injured young man who was getting the worst news of his life.

"Kutner, you need to sit down, ok?" House said. He tried his damndest to make his voice sound as low and soothing as possible, but it still sounded like gravel to his ears. He began to slowly limp forward, his hands in front of him, open and ready.

"Stay away from me, House! All you do is lie!" Kutner yelled. Another flash within his brain: _A familiar store, his father patiently showing him how to work the price gun. Instructing him to price the merchandise and put it on the bottom shelf while he brought out more boxes. He is so happy to help. He suddenly hears the loud voices near the front of the store. He peeks out from behind the rows of shelving and sees someone yelling at his mother as she fumbles behind the register. She seems to reach for something below the counter and the stranger yells again and a loud pop his heard, then another right afterwards. He sees his mother's body jerk as a red splash comes out of her blouse, then she disappears behind the counter. He can't move. He can't speak. He saw something like that on TV once, but his mother scolded him for watching it. He sees his father run up with a baseball bat, screaming without words. Another three pops and he can't see him anymore. The stranger runs around to the register and breaks it open. He watches the man shove fistfuls of his parents' money into his pockets, and he learns the man's face. He will never forget the face. The man finishes looting and runs out onto the street, not knowing that he left someone alive inside, a six-year-old boy who had just wanted to help his parents in their store. _

Kutner shook the memory away. He didn't want that in his head. Not now. House saw Kutner falter and reached out, making a grab for Kutner's arm. Unfortunately, the fact remained that House was a cripple with only one good leg. Kutner recovered himself before House could seize him, managed to throw him off balance, violently jerking away. He barely felt the IV needle rip its way out of his arm as he lunged for the door, knocking over one of the chairs in the process. He had to get out of that room before the walls fell in on him. _They have to be here somewhere…I'll go find them and bring them back and House will have to admit he's wrong._ The sudden action startled everyone – House attempted to right himself, Wilson fumbled around with the syringe full of enough tranquilizer to bring down a bull elephant while making his way across the room, Tritter immediately followed after Kutner into the hallway.

The security guard had been so surprised at the sudden appearance of Dr. Kutner, he had been unable to catch him as he bolted for the lobby. "Sir, stop, you need to remain in your room!" he called futilely. Tritter crashed into him as he barreled out of the hospital room. "Call security, tell them to head him off, but they need to be careful! He's not a danger to anyone but himself." Tritter wheezed as he disentangled himself from the young man. House and Wilson both raced past them after Kutner, and Tritter couldn't help but marvel how quickly a man could limp.

Right as Kutner was about to burst through the doors from the IC-Unit, he stumbled into Taub coming in, out of breath from lugging his middle-aged body up four flights of stairs to the intensive care ward. Taub was completely speechless upon seeing Kutner falling into his arms, but his surprise quickly turned to alarm. Kutner was ashen again, clammy with perspiration. His eyes were wild and he had some blood staining his hospital gown, but Taub was unsure if it was the result of ripped stitches or from the nasty cut dripping on his arm where his IV needle had been forcefully jerked out of his vein. It was obvious that Kutner was in a full-fledged panic attack. _Oh, God, this is it…_Taub realized in horror.

"T-Taub!" Kutner gasped as he gripped the shorter mans shoulders, digging his nails into Taub's jacket. "You w-won't believe…what they t-told me – House and… and the cop – they s-said m-m-my…" He winced at the tightness in his chest as tears forced their way out of his eyes. He could not catch his breath; no matter how hard he inhaled, he felt like his lungs simply refused to fill up. "S-said my parents were – were- d-dead!" He finally managed to choke out those terrible words. The effort had nearly depleted his strength. His eyesight was now blurred and almost warped. He felt like he was looking down through a tunnel, or the fish-eye peephole in a door. Taub put his arms out to steady Kutner.

"Kutner, please," Taub said, as quietly and calmly as his frightened brain would let him. "Let's go back into your room and talk, ok? You can tell me what they said in there. You need to calm down, buddy. Please." As he focused on Kutner, he could see House, Wilson, and Tritter of all people, just beyond them. All three were worried, their bodies tightly coiled like springs, ready to leap into action at Taub's signal.

"No, no…_Taub,_" Kutner gave him a little shake as he tried to articulate what he wanted through his shuddering hiccups. "I need – you to t-tell me – tell me they're not…" He couldn't bring himself to say it again. "Everybody l-lies, but you – you won't lie to m-me, right? Not about, not about this. It c-can't happen again. P-please - Chris. Tell me!" Kutner looked at him with eyes so full of hope, of dread. He was looking to his friend to save him again from the abyss that was opening up in front of him, like he had done the day before when his lifeblood was pouring out of his body. And Taub knew that the lie he wanted to hear was much nicer than the truth, but it didn't keep it from being a lie. And he wouldn't lie to Kutner. Not about this. Not again.

"I'm so sorry… they're gone, Kutner…" he whispered, his own eyes filling with tears as he watched his words rend the young man's soul into a million tiny shards. And he hated himself at that moment more than anything or anyone else in the world. He wasn't able to be the hero this time.

Kutner felt his world begin to slip sideways and grow suddenly dim. He couldn't breathe anymore, couldn't stand anymore. He could feel Taub holding onto him, speaking gently to him, then another pair of hands joining in guiding him gently to the floor; he could feel a small pinch from a needle; he could hear House flinging obscenities at someone. As he felt an odd heaviness and quiet come over his body, before oblivion set in, the rest of the memory came unbidden to his mind, though changed now.

_There is a little Indian boy, only six-years old, standing bewildered and lost. His name is Lawrence Choudhray and he is looking at the bloody bodies of his parents, murdered in a robbery. They lay where they have fallen, eyes open and cold, unseeing. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't understand. A young man stands next to him, a young man approaching thirty but still with a boy's face, also of Indian descent, also bewildered and lost. His name is Lawrence Kutner. He is looking at the bloody bodies of his parents, a Caucasian couple who adopted him at the age of nine, murdered in their own home, because….well, he's not sure why or when. They lay where they have fallen, eyes open and cold, unseeing. He doesn't know what to do. He doesn't understand. The younger Lawrence looks to him for an explanation, which he doesn't have, with desperate, tear-filled eyes that have seen far too much evil for one still so innocent. It hurts to breathe. He's covered in blood, but he's not sure what body it belongs to. He realizes in horror that it's a mixture of all four victims that stains his clothes. Then he realizes there is no young Lawrence anymore. There are no bodies anymore. There is only Kutner. He is alone, surrounded by the blood of those who had loved him, which fades into black shadow. Then there is only the welcoming darkness. _


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

All was quiet once again, at least for the time being. Taub, for the second time in 24 hours, found himself watching over Kutner, waiting for any sign of waking. After fainting in the hallway, Wilson had given him a fairly strong sedative, and then he had been quickly moved back into his room. House had been a terrifying figure during the aftermath of the whole gut-wrenching scene, barking orders to Taub, Wilson, and various nurses who endeavored to assist the fallen patient, interspersed with vicious curses aimed at Tritter, who bore it, silent and stone-faced. He had resembled some sort of staff-wielding Old Testament prophet unleashing the wrath of God upon the masses. Taub had never seen House look like that before, never heard that tone of voice before. The older doctor was frequently grouchy and often irritable. Taub had even seen him quite pissed off at times. But he had never seen House enraged before. That was the only word for it – _rage_. Taub had been slightly intimidated by House on a couple of occasions, but this was the first time he had actually been afraid of him. He thanked his lucky stars the anger was not directed at him. In fact, House had looked to Taub for help, with the quiet, unspoken agreement that he was to stay by Kutner's side. Taub hadn't needed to be asked – it was the obvious course.

Kutner had been asleep for almost four hours, and Taub had not moved from his spot next to him. He watched and waited, counting each steady breath, each quiet heartbeat, wondering how Kutner would be when he awoke. Secretly, he was terrified. A small unwelcome thought kept worming its way into his mind, no matter how hard he tried to push it away. It had been several months ago, a seemingly innocuous conversation about a controversial subject. Their patient, a man with chronic pain, had tried to take his own life. Taub made no bones about his opinion of suicide and had discreetly described his selfish "friend" that had attempted suicide years ago with an overdose of insulin. Kutner had deduced the story was really about him, but hadn't pushed the subject, for which Taub had been grateful. That wasn't what he was remembering though. Taub's mind kept replaying the conversation in the MRI room. Kutner had said, "It's people like me who don't do it. When your life starts out sucking, there's nowhere to go but up." Well, Kutner's life had gone up since that terrible day when he lost his biological parents. Until now… _Does he still feel that way? Will he still feel that way when he wakes up and remembers that he's an orphan again? There's no way he would actually consider… would he? _Taub shuddered and once again pushed the thought away. _No, not Kutner. Not suicide. He would never think that was the solution. It will be hard, it will take time to heal, but he did it once before. He will find a way to move past this. He has to. _Taub was so lost in his fears and rationalizations he didn't immediately notice when Kutner awoke.

Kutner's eyes were open, but he was simply staring at the ceiling with a far-off, lost look. Taub touched his hand and said gently, "Kutner?" No reaction. Taub went on. "How are you feeling?" Still nothing. Taub decided to keep talking, assuming Kutner was still disoriented and feeling the effects of the tranquilizer. "You, um, ripped some of your stitches out. We sedated you and we fixed them, but you didn't lose too much blood, luckily….You're running a slight fever. It's right around 100 degrees; not too serious, but we've started you on broad-spectrum antibiotics. Should take care of it pretty quick. It's just a minor infection – nothing to worry about…" Taub tried to smile reassuringly, but Kutner didn't see it. He continued to stare into space, his face expressionless. Taub's face fell. This was going to be much harder than he thought. He spoke again, trying to keep his voice even. "Kutner, I know you've had a lot thrown at you today. I know you feel like crap… but, you know, I'm here. I'm right here with you, and I will do anything I can to help you. Is there anyone…you'd like for me to call? A relative, or a family friend, or…?" Again, Kutner remained silent.

Now Taub was feeling more than a bit concerned. The lack of expression, the blank stare, the silence…this wasn't catatonia, was it? No, it couldn't be that – his muscles weren't rigid enough, and he was sure Kutner could hear him, could understand him. Just because he was choosing not to answer didn't mean he lacked awareness of his presence or his surroundings. There was definitely something psychological going on, though. Taub flicked his eyes over Kutner's prone figure, and noticed his hands gripping the sheet so hard his knuckles were white. "How's your pain level?" Taub asked. He almost hoped Kutner was in pain. That was something he could fix; he could help with physical discomfort. But Kutner didn't respond. Taub kept pressing. "Six? Seven?" Nothing. "Eight, or higher?" Finally, Kutner shut his eyes, gave a shuddering sigh, and nodded almost imperceptibly. "Okay, we can take care of that." Taub tried to reassure him as he adjusted the morphine level. The dosage had been lowered earlier, but House had told him to disregard it in the wake of Kutner's collapse. _There's no point for him to have to deal with physical pain in addition to all the emotional crap, _House had said, wearily. _Keep him as comfortable as possible. It's the least we can do for him. _As Taub worked, he could see Kutner's eyes, open again, and filled with so much anguish. His own heart ached for the young man whose whole world had been ripped apart yet again.

"Knock, knock," came a quiet, feminine voice. Taub turned and saw Hadley, hesitating in the doorway. She had a small, insecure smile on her face, an attempt at keeping the mood light, but her green eyes were filled with concern. Obviously, she wasn't sure if it was a good time. Taub motioned for her to come in. She came towards the bed, almost timidly. "You're awake," she noted, sounding relieved, but her eyes questioned Taub: _Is this a good thing? _He gave her a small, sad smile and stepped back so she could see Kutner, who continued his thousand-mile stare into nothing.

"I just wanted to stop in and see how you were doing. Everyone's asking about you… Cameron said she and Chase might stop in a little later…if you're up for it, of course. Oh, um… I got you something," Hadley blushed a little bit and brought a little white teddy bear out from behind her back. It wore a little blue shirt with the words 'Feel better!' emblazoned cheerily on it. "Sorry," she said, balancing it next to Kutner's elbow. "It's kind of lame; the gift shop doesn't have a very good selection of, you know, guy stuff. I actually bought it this morning, but I didn't have a chance to stop by before…" She trailed off. Kutner didn't acknowledge her or the gift. Hadley hesitated. Was he even listening? She chastised herself. _He just found out his parents are dead. Did I seriously think a dumb stuffed animal would make everything okay again? It would have been one thing if I had given it to him this morning, but now… What was I thinking? _

She sat gently on the edge of his bed and reached out to touch his cold, tense hand. Kutner had done that for her, several months ago during her health scare from the drug trial. She hadn't been able to see him, but knowing he was there had helped her immensely. As Foreman had struggled with his conscience, Kutner had provided a shoulder to lean on. While there was no romantic attraction to him, Hadley had been glad of the support he gave, and viewed him like a brother. However, these last few months she had grown so accustomed to getting sympathetic attention for her Huntington's condition, being on the receiving end of comfort, she suddenly was unsure of how to give it to someone else. Kutner wasn't just a patient; he was a friend. He had almost lost his own life, and he had been bereaved for a second time in brutal fashion. For the first time, she started to think, not about dying, but about living in the face of death. _In the long run, death is the easiest thing in the world. Why did I never consider what the people left behind have to deal with? What is he going to do? He's probably scared out of his mind. _The truth was, now that she was seeing him like this, in the wake of the revelation, she was scared for him. This wasn't the Kutner she knew. This was a shell of a man; there was still breath and blood in him, but that spark, that light that was Kutner's spirit – it seemed to have fled. Would he ever be able to smile again? Had they lost him?

"Kutner, I… I just wanted to tell you…I'm so sorry," Hadley murmured quietly. "We all are. It sounds so …cliché and lame and I know it doesn't make anything better, but… I'm so sorry for… everything." She felt herself start to choke up, and had to take a moment to regain her composure. She couldn't lose it in front of Kutner; she had no right. "If there is anything I can do…anything you need – no matter what it is… just tell me." Silence. "Well… I should probably go, let you rest. I'll come back by a little later…" she trailed off, rising from the bed carefully, not wanting to jar his battered body. She squeezed his hand, and then, throwing caution to the wind and thinking _Screw it, _she leaned down and softly kissed the top of his head.

Taub watched Hadley's tender display, thinking it was something a mother would do to comfort her child. But Kutner no longer had a mother to kiss the pain away. She turned from Kutner's still body, and Taub could see her eyes brimming with tears. Tears she didn't want Kutner to see. He reached out and squeezed her arm, and she whispered, "Take care of him. Foreman will probably come by in a bit too... we didn't want to overwhelm him, but… call me if you need anything." He nodded, and she made her way to the door, before a small, hoarse voice startled her. "How's the patient?"

She turned in surprise, and so did Taub. Kutner had turned his head slightly, his eyes trained on Hadley. "What?" she asked, confused.

"How is the patient?" he asked, flatly. He seemed so tired.

Hadley was baffled. _Why on earth is he asking about House's patient right now? With everything that has happened today – he can't honestly care about a case he's not even on! _She searched for an answer, and wound up telling him the truth. "House's patient? She… she died about an hour ago… her liver was shot… we diagnosed her too late. Her husband only has a couple of hours left…" Both she and Taub watched as he thought for a moment, and then slowly turned his head away from them. He resumed his vacant look, but a small tear was noticed snaking its way from his eye to his pillow.

* * *

Foreman was dropping off the last of his paperwork on their deceased patient when he saw his lover quickly approaching him. "Hey, the husband just passed away a few minutes ago. He – what's wrong?" he interrupted himself as Hadley, with tears in her eyes, grabbed him in a tight embrace. "Remy? What is it? Did you see Kutner?" he asked worriedly. She only nodded into his jacket. "Baby, he's going to be ok…"

"Eric, no, you didn't see him!" she argued, looking up into his eyes. "I've never seen him like this. He… he wasn't Kutner anymore. He didn't talk; he didn't look at me, or Taub. He's completely shut down." She held him tighter. "I don't know how he's going to get through this. How does _anyone _live through this sort of thing?"

"We'll help him. We need to get him better physically first, that's our biggest concern; then he can get counseling, and over time he'll go back to being the same wacky Kutner we know. I know he's hurting now – he's still in shock, it's totally understandable – and it's going to be hard, but he's strong. Look what he's already been through, and he's still standing. He's a fighter." Foreman was new to the whole optimism thing, but he was desperate to console Hadley and convince himself that it wasn't as bad as she made it sound.

"I want to believe that, Eric, but now, I don't know…" Hadley took a deep breath before going on. "Taub pulled me aside before I left….He wanted me to ask House-"

"Ask me what?" House interrupted, walking up behind her. He was calmer now, but still _very _grouchy about the way the entire day had managed to go completely to hell before noon. Hadley turned, and hesitated to continue. She had been so worried about Kutner, but assumed she was being irrational, given her own tendency to receive bad news poorly. But when Taub had quietly told her of his worries, and he knowing Kutner so much better than she did, she started to wonder if her fears had merit. "Taub thinks Kutner needs to be under suicide watch for a few days," she finally murmured.

House looked impassive, but Foreman's face fell, his eyes full of concern. "That's… necessary?" He couldn't imagine Kutner attempting to take his own life. He didn't want to imagine it. Kutner was always so positive, so lively. Sometimes gratingly so – Foreman was able to recall a few times when he had seriously considered slipping the guy some Ritalin, just to get some peace and quiet. But his enthusiasm was generally a welcome quality in their department, where it so often seemed that misery and dissatisfaction was the order of the day. Sure, he had been through a traumatic experience, but look at his childhood – he had actually _seen _that nightmare happen in right front of him. If that didn't screw him up, surely this second loss wouldn't either. "You sure Taub isn't just being overcautious? I mean, was he speaking as a friend or as a doctor?"

"Both, I think," Hadley mused. "I'm worried too, though. I think Taub's right. Kutner's definitely despondent right now. When I saw him…it was like he wasn't even alive anymore. I mean, he's grieving, but he's really not, you know?" She struggled to put it into words. "He was completely flat – no expression, no eye contact, no movement at all. Just… numb. He didn't say a word to either of us, except to ask about the patient." That peaked House's interest.

"What did he ask?" he asked intently.

"He wanted to know how she was. I don't know why, seeing as how he wasn't even involved in her case, but it was the only thing he even made an effort to say while I was in there."

"You didn't tell him she died, did you?" Foreman asked. He didn't think that was news a grieving man should have to hear, that even more death was floating around.

"Yeah, I did. The question took me by surprise – I didn't think to answer any differently," Hadley shrugged.

House studied her. "What was his reaction?"

Hadley bit her lip. "He didn't say anything… just turned away, went all lifeless again. He was crying a little though… not sobbing or anything, but there was a tear… It was like it just slipped out on its own, like he wasn't even aware he was crying." She remembered the image, and it once again made her heart ache.

"Damn," House muttered. Neither Hadley nor Foreman understood what he meant. He looked at their confused faces and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've never heard of survivor's guilt?"

"We've heard of it, but why would Kutner feel it in regards to our patient?" Foreman protested. "With his parents, I totally get it. But why ask about the patient right now, of all things? Why is the patient's death triggering an emotional reaction?"

"Well, assuming I understand the definition of the _'guilt' _part, I'm guessing it's because he thinks it's his fault," House said bitterly, then turned from them and walked away, leaving the two doctors dumbstruck. _And that guilt is what's going to make the next task even worse…_House thought as he prepared to meet Cuddy outside of Kutner's room. _Damn…_

* * *

Cuddy entered the quiet hospital room; House lingered in the doorway, not wanting to come all the way inside. He had already had his fill of difficult conversations; let Cuddy handle this one. Taub looked up from his position in his chair, but Kutner, lying limply against his pillow, gave no notice of her. The mother's heart in her swelled, making her long to hold him – he looked so like a hurt little boy – but she knew she had to maintain her composure, had to uphold the appropriate employer-employee boundaries. She had never had to deal with a situation quite like this before. Not only had Kutner and his family been victims of an attack, there was also a strong possibility that he was still at risk here within these walls. She had a whole hospital full of patients and staff that needed to be kept safe, and she had to keep them safe without causing alarm or panic.

She gently cleared her throat, hoping to catch the young man's attention. But he gave no indication that he was even aware of her. With a pleading look to Taub, who merely shook his head sadly, it became apparent that she wouldn't get much more of a response than that. "Kutner, I'm so sorry for your loss," she began softly. When he didn't bat an eye, she kept going. "I've hired a grief counselor, whenever you feel ready to talk. I would also like to offer you extended paid medical leave. You can take all the time you need; your job will be waiting for you once you recover." She stopped to breathe. With a quick glance at House, she knew it was time to get to the hard part. And it was not going to be pleasant. "Detective Tritter arranged for your parents to be transported here from New Brunswick. He needs a formal identification from the next of kin, and he knew you wouldn't be well enough to travel. I just want you to know we will treat them with dignity and respect until funeral arrangements…" she stopped talking as Kutner suddenly sat up and began disentangling himself from the various wires holding him to the monitors.

Taub immediately jumped into action. "Kutner, what are you doing?" he asked as he attempted to hinder Kutner's movement. House merely stood and watched.

"Next of kin," Kutner said dully.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that this needed to be done right now, Kutner," Cuddy found herself backpedaling, feeling about as low as a worm. "It can wait until you're stronger, until you're ready…"

"Never be ready…" Kutner muttered, still moving to get out of bed. Finally, House spoke up.

"Might as well go ahead and get it over with, Cuddy. Back off, Taub – you'll just wind up hurting him if you struggle with him. Help him up. Let's get this whole ordeal over and done with."

* * *

Taub and House had situated Kutner in a wheelchair, with his IV line still pushing morphine and antibiotics into his veins. Taub had spoken reassuringly to him as he tucked a blanket around him, but as ever, there was nothing but a vacant stare given in reply. And the odd and somber procession began: Taub pushing a phantom Kutner to the elevator, followed by the silent figures of House and Cuddy.

When the elevator stopped at the basement, Tritter was waiting. Ignoring the death-glare House gave him, he escorted the group into the morgue, where an orderly and the New Brunswick Medical Examiner waited in respectful silence. Two figures lay side by side on the cold metal tables, obscured by sheets.

Tritter spoke, breaking the silence. "Whenever you're ready, Dr. Kutner." He couldn't help but notice that the young man was gripping the arms of his wheelchair tightly. His eyes were closed and he was beginning to sweat. Taub noticed it too, and gently whispered to Kutner, "It's going to be okay – we're all here with you. You don't have to do this right now, you know…"

"Yes, I do," Kutner whispered, his eyes still closed. Another shuddering breath and he opened his eyes. He nodded to Tritter, who in turn nodded to the orderly. The sheets were pulled down, revealing the peaceful faces of Richard and Julia Kutner.

They were so pale, almost tinged bluish from the amount of time that had passed since their lives had ended. The paleness of death only exacerbated the truth of their race in comparison to their brown-skinned son. Mercifully, their faces gave no evidence of the brutality they met with in death. Richard Kutner was a man in his mid-sixties, tall – about a half inch taller than House, sturdily-built, with close-cropped graying hair. He had been a college running back, and he still maintained his fighting weight of 187 lbs. of muscle. He would have fought his attacker, if he had been given the chance. Julia Kutner had been nearly a foot shorter than her son, fitting neatly under his arm in so many family pictures. Her dark hair was uncombed and there was no makeup on her face to hide her fifty-nine years. She would never have dared to walk out of the house without doing her hair and "putting on her face," as she called it. They had been a happy, normal, middle-class couple – 35 years well-lived, only to be cut down in a storm of bullets.

Taub and House both watched Kutner, waiting for any sign of a panic attack, though neither paid attention to the other. Kutner's eyes flickered from one body to another, then back again. He made no move to get closer, or to touch them. He finally whispered, "That's them." Tritter, fortunately, heard him and didn't need him to repeat the verification.

"Would you like a moment-" Tritter began, about to offer the usual courtesy to the recently bereaved. But Kutner shook his head and said no. He sounded as though there was a "frog" in his throat that was choking his voice.

"Ok, Taub, back upstairs," House spoke up, as the orderly began to recover the bodies. Taub quickly went to the wheelchair and turned it around. He could see Kutner slumping a little bit, the stare returning to his eyes. He wheeled him out with a passing glance to House. Cuddy followed behind him to escort the two back upstairs.

"House," Tritter quietly stopped him before he could leave. "I take it Dr. Kutner isn't doing very well."

"No, duh," House curtly replied. He wasn't ready to make small talk with this man – it was too soon after that morning's altercation. He was worried that if he lingered too long, unchecked, in Tritter's presence, he'd wind up decking the guy in the nose.

"I thought this might be helpful," Tritter said insistently, handing House a manila envelope. House studied it suspiciously, but Tritter knew he had sparked the doctor's curiosity. "Perhaps if you have a little background on him, and the psychological ramifications of the first tragedy he experienced, you'll be able to help him more effectively."

House's eyes widened. "What the hell are you handing me here?"

"Records from the social worker who handled Lawrence Choudray's foster placement and subsequent adoption." Tritter smacked his gum, and gave his old nemesis an inscrutable smile. "I was able to gain access to this information due to the current case, as I was looking for any possible connections to the murders from 22 years ago. I thought it might provide some interesting reading for you."

House was thunderstruck. _I can't believe he's giving me this. I shouldn't take it, it's none of my business….oh but I want to! All that damn PI was able to dig up about Kutner was the "world record for crawling" thing. Interesting, yes. Hilarious, absolutely. Might have been good for blackmailing if he hadn't been so frigging proud of it. But it's not life-defining, not the sort of information that would unravel the human mystery. And here Tritter is, offering me that very thing! I want it. I've been wanting this sort of thing ever since I hired my team. No, I can't – but, but, I waaaant it…. _"I don't get it. Why would you be handing me this? It's supposed to be confidential, isn't it?" House tightly gripped his cane with one hand, and stuck his other hand in his pocket – anything to keep his itchy fingers from grasping the envelope.

"I would imagine that Dr. Kutner, like many victims, is experiencing a certain level of PTSD," Tritter shrugged. House tried not to show any surprise – _he's a cop, of course he would know about post-traumatic stress disorder. _"This is a special case, given what happened to him as a child. I thought the effects of this situation could potentially be pretty severe on him mentally and emotionally. This could give you a heads-up on what you might be getting ready to endure - maybe help you help him. But if you aren't interested, I can just have the records resealed and-" Tritter felt no need to go on as House snatched the manila folder out of his hand.

"I didn't say I wasn't interested. Just wanted to know what your game is," House grumbled, avoiding Tritter's probing gaze. "Now shouldn't you be off somewhere – I don't know…eating a puppy?" House dropped his last comment with half-hearted venom as he beat it out of the morgue, the envelope tucked securely under his arm. He didn't want to have time to regret his actions.


	15. Chapter 15

**Author's Note:** Hi all. Got some big things planned for this story, so the next few little installments will be kind of brief. I'm going to start bringing the criminal aspect of this out a little more, and the Taubner bromance will be tested. I hope I haven't been too mean to the boys. :3

Chapter Fifteen

House raced home on his bike like a man possessed, ignoring every rule of the road and nearly side-swiping a pedestrian. He hurried into his apartment, locked the door tight behind him. He unplugged his phone, and stuck his pager and his cell (which was on 'vibrate') onto his bed. Pouring himself a scotch and bringing the bottle within easy reach, he sat down on his couch with the manila envelope in his tight, eager fist. He held it a moment, feeling its weight, but for some reason couldn't rip into it right away like he wanted to. He couldn't understand his hesitation. For God's sake, he had violated the privacy of every one of his fellows up to now, and even rather enjoyed uncovering the skeletons hidden in each one's respective closet. Cameron's dead hubby, Chase's daddy issues, Foreman's imprisoned brother, Thirteen's Huntington's test, and Taub's infidelity and financial woes – all of these things helped him understand his employees, what made them tick, what shaped them and therefore, their decisions with a patient. Kutner was the only one he had neglected. Why was that? Was it because the man appeared so open about everything? House had known almost from the get-go that he had been a former foster kid, that he had a reckless side, that he was enthusiastic and dorky and sharp and a little bit nuts. Kutner was open about what had happened to him. There didn't seem to be much more to the story. Then again, perhaps that was his way of hiding. Lay the biggest things out there for everyone to see, but remain detached from it. Hide the part of your soul that's still affected. He never really showed any sort of emotion when he had talked about his parents. It was just a fact; it was something that had happened long ago to Lawrence Choudray, and since he was Lawrence Kutner now, it had no bearing on anything he did.

So why did he pause when it came to learning Kutner's darkest secrets? House briefly wondered if, somewhere deep down, he truly wanted Kutner to be as happy and well-adjusted as he appeared, untouched and unscathed by his personal tragedies. Maybe he never looked deeper because he was afraid he'd be disappointed, afraid that maybe Kutner was just as miserable as everyone else in this sorry world. He pushed the thought away, refusing to let this Wilson-esque psycho-sentimentality and a perhaps a twisted sense of affection mess with his evening plans. _Sorry, Kutner. It's for your own good – it really is, _he apologized inwardly. Then he briskly tore open the envelope and pulled out the copied pages. Downing his first glass of scotch quickly, and pouring himself another, he settled in to read the story of Lawrence Kutner.

* * *

The night seemed interminable, but like every night, it eventually gave way to morning. Then the day was equally interminable, despite welcome interruptions from Foreman and Cameron. Both had lingered for a few uncomfortable moments, attempting to make small talk amidst the deafening silence. Finally they retreated, their faces expressing worry for Kutner, sympathy for Taub, and quite frankly, relief at being able escape the weight of tragedy that permeated the air. Cameron had tried not to be reminded of her dead husband, of the depression he went through shortly after his terminal diagnosis when he had just wanted the whole thing to be over with. Foreman, meanwhile, had become convinced of the reality of his colleagues' fears; now he, too, questioned Kutner's will to live. Hadley had also returned; to her credit, she had sat with Kutner for almost an hour, giving Taub time to freshen up in the locker room, call his wife, and grab some coffee. Upon his return, she quietly reported no change.

Taub was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. Instead of sleeping, he had watched Kutner drift in and out of consciousness for hours on end. The moments of rest were not restful; at least there were no nightmares – Kutner had not allowed himself to sleep long enough or deep enough to experience REM. The moments of wakefulness were all similarly uneventful – Kutner continued in his apathetic stupor, his emotionless blank staring. There was little movement on his part, save for an occasional involuntary shudder of pain. There had been no other tears aside from the single one he had shed upon hearing of the patient's death. As a doctor, Taub had seen many patients experience the five stages of grieving: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Kutner, however, seemed to have seamlessly jumped from his panicky denial state of the previous morning straight to the depression part. Now he was apparently locked there, stranded in a mire of despair. His fever was neither better nor worse, and Taub was wondering if Kutner's body was getting the signal that his mind was giving up.

When his meal had been brought for him the previous evening, he had silently ignored the tray of unappealing fare. He continued his obstinacy through breakfast. Taub had reasoned he didn't have an appetite, and couldn't blame him, so he didn't push the subject. But when the nurse once again arrived with Kutner's lunch tray, there was still no indication that he was hungry. Knowing that the last thing Kutner had eaten was half of the breakfast he had received early yesterday morning, Taub thought maybe some gentle prodding was in order.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat, Kutner?" he asked, gently but pointedly. As usual, he was met with silence. "I understand if you don't have much of an appetite right now, but maybe you could just have a few bites? All that morphine on an empty stomach probably isn't making you feel too great, right?" No response. "O-_kaay_. Maybe in a little while…. Are you thirsty at all?" Taub realized he was probably making a pest of himself, but he was reluctant to stop talking and have that tense quiet return to the room. He held out a small cup of water, which was ignored by the stone-faced figure in the bed. Taub paused a moment, then drank it himself. He desperately wished it was something stronger.

He grudgingly admitted to himself that he had assumed Kutner would need him, would want to talk, or cry, or rage at him. He had been prepared for those things. But this stillness – it was troublesome. It wasn't peaceful or tranquil. It hid something far more turbulent. And it scared Taub to no end.

A thought had occurred to him as he sat keeping his vigil. It wasn't a pleasant one, and though he tried to push it aside, it kept insisting on itself. He might be way off base for bringing it up, but he felt that it needed to be addressed, just in case it actually had merit. _At the very least, it might get him talking._ "Kutner, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. I understand if you're angry at me." When the young man didn't contradict him, he kept going. "I… I think I should have been the one to tell you about your family. Not House. Certainly not Tritter. We found out just after your surgery, and with everything that had happened, we were all really freaked out. Frankly, we were scared of how you'd take it, and scared for your health. House said he was going to be responsible for telling you, but he wanted to wait until you were stronger. I agreed to it, but I was just being a coward. It should've been my responsibility, and it should have happened sooner and more…gently. There's no excuse, and I'm not trying to justify keeping it from you. I just want you to know why I didn't…"

"I know why." The quiet statement took him by surprise.

"You do?" Taub said, hardly daring to sound hopeful. _He's talking now, he doesn't seem angry. Maybe he's coming out of it a little. _

Kutner nodded simply. Then, with an indiscernible look he said, flatly, "That's why you should go."

Taub stared at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"You need to go." This time Kutner spoke with a bit more force, gritting his teeth.

"Um, I don't _need _to do anything; I make my own decisions. Do you, do you _want _me to leave?" Taub was incredulous. Kutner nodded, but it seemed to Taub that it took quite an effort for him to do so. He was unconvinced. "Well, I'm sorry, but you're my friend, you're not eating, and you have a fever. So, if you'll pardon me, I don't feel right leaving you just yet." Taub turned to return to his seat.

"5,000 Japanese teenagers playing Halo…" Kutner muttered. Taub whirled around in surprise. It took him only a second to realize what Kutner meant.

"What… what did you say?" Surely he hadn't heard him correctly.

"They're your words, not mine."

Taub had been remorseful of his comment that Kutner was better friends with thousands of anonymous online gamers with than him. He had been pushing the young man away in the midst of his own personal troubles, and he was actually surprised at himself when the snarky comment had escaped his lips. He remembered feeling about as low as a worm when Kutner's face fell, and he had wished he could've taken those words back. _But… but I thought he forgave me for that! Why is he bringing it up again NOW? No, this isn't right – he's hurting, he's sick – it's the meds. It's the fever. It's the lack of food. He isn't himself. _

"Kutner, you know I didn't mean that. I know I shouldn't have said it, but it was weeks ago! I said I was sorry, and you said you were over it. You said you forgave me." Taub tried not to sound hurt by the reminder.

"Well, maybe I lied so you'd feel better about yourself." Kutner's voice was like ice. "It's not like you have the greatest self-esteem these days…"

"_Wow. _Are you serious? I mean, are we seriously talking about this right now?? I have been right beside you ever since you got hurt. I **saved** your **life**, remember?" Against his better judgment, Taub felt himself getting angry. "Do you honestly think I would be spending all my time here if I didn't care about you? Do you think I would bother staying when I could be at home with my wife, sleeping in a _bed_, if I didn't believe we were friends?"

"You said it yourself the other night: you felt guilty."

"Yeah, I did! I felt guilty because I treated you badly, and you didn't deserve it." Taub's frustration was mounting, and the fact that Kutner was not getting equally worked up was only adding fuel to the fire. "But just because I felt guilt for that situation doesn't mean I don't care about-"

"Well, you were right. We work together; we can joke around to make the time pass by; we can help each other out with diagnoses so that House doesn't fire us. But it's not like we hang out together. It's not like you've ever invited me to do anything. You're a doctor; it was gut instinct that made you not want me to bleed to death. And it was nice of you to stick around and distract me, even if you were only covering up the fact that my parents were dead. But you were right that day," Kutner growled. "We aren't really friends. So there's no reason for you to stay. Go home to your wife where you belong."

Taub didn't bother to notice that Kutner couldn't look him in the eye. It made no impression on him whatsoever. "I see," he said calmly, allowing his affect to become as flat as Kutner's. "Fine. I need to get some air anyway – the atmosphere in here isn't… to my liking. A nurse can watch you for the next few hours. I'm sure someone else will be by after that. I'll be sure not to disturb you again. Feel better. Or not, since it's pretty obvious to everyone that you don't really care whether you live or die at this point." Taub picked up his suit jacket and quickly walked out of the room. He was too upset to look back, so he did not get to see Kutner curl into himself and weep quietly into his pillow.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"Yeesh. You look like hell," House stated bluntly at the appearance of his shortest employee in his office. Taub was sporting a bit of Houseian scruff on his own chin. _He really shouldn't try to pull that look off – he doesn't have my cheekbones. _His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy from lack of sleep, and his clothes were rumpled from sitting around in Kutner's hospital room. There was a defeated, careworn air about him.

"Thank you," Taub deadpanned, without missing a beat. "I'm going for the whole 'just-rolled-out-of-the-chair-I-_didn't_-sleep-in' look." Silence ensued, and House waited for Taub to continue. There was obviously something the surgeon wanted to say, but couldn't seem to find the words to begin.

"Well?" House impatiently tried to move things along.

"Could you keep an eye on Kutner? He's really in a bad way. If he keeps up like this....." Taub took a deep breath and met his boss's blue eyes. "I think he's dying, House."

House was unable to stop his face from registering concern at Taub's blurted-out statement. "What, do you mean the infection? I thought it was under control. But we can do an LP, narrow down the strain, and try a different antibiotic..."

"No, House, it has nothing to do with the infection. Well, not really. His fever's the same, still hovering just above 100 degrees. His body doesn't seem to be able to fight it right now. At least he's not technically worse. But, I wasn't talking about that…. it's deeper than that."

"Oh geez. Are you going to tell me he's dying of a broken heart?" House whined. He wasn't in the mood to hear a bunch of romanticized drivel. _God, if he believes that AND thinks I won't mock him, then he really needs to get some sleep._

"I wasn't going to use that exact phrase. But basically, yes. House, it's been two days – three if you count the day he was shot – and he hasn't taken any food. It's not lack of appetite; he just doesn't want to eat. Or drink. Or talk. Well, I take that back. He had no problem finding something to say a little while ago, since he's apparently pissed off at me now," Taub rubbed his head wearily.

"Oooh, what did you _do_?" House leaned forward eagerly, ready for some gossip. Now this could be interesting. Was there a rift in this odd little bromance that had cropped up within his department?

"_Nothing._ Well, I don't know…" Taub hedged, somewhat defensive. "He told me to leave, and I refused, and then he said…" Taub didn't want to tell House this. It was between him and Kutner. He didn't feel like having someone yell at him for being mean to the invalid. Did it even matter if House didn't know the exact details of the argument? It would just encourage his nosiness. "He brought up an old argument that I thought had been resolved, but obviously it still bothers him. And he just acted like a… a moody, petulant little brat. So I decided I should take a break, maybe go home for the rest of the day-"

"So he threw you out?" House asked. To Taub's irritation, House seemed to have a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. _Oh, that's just swell. He's enjoying this._

"Yeah, ok. Fine. He threw me out," Taub conceded in annoyance. "That's why I'm here: to let you know I'm heading home. A nurse is sitting with him now, since he's still under suicide watch. I do plan on going back in later, once he's had a little time to cool off. Once _I _cool off. I don't get why he's angry at me – I didn't shoot him." He blanched slightly as he said those words. To his shame, he heard the bitterness in his voice. _It's not his fault, _Taub insisted to himself. _He's grieving, he's hurting. It's not his fault…_

"And it hasn't occurred to you that maybe he's not mad at you at all?" House's voice jarred Taub from his thoughts.

"Well, I dunno, I know he's not himself right now, but he sure seemed… What the hell are you smiling about?" Taub asked, thoroughly exasperated now. House didn't seem to be taking him seriously at all.

"I just think it's cute," House said. When Taub's mouth fell open, he clarified. "He's obviously trying to save you."

"WHAT?"

"Oh, come on, I know you're smarter than that! Think about it for five seconds." When Taub gave no indication of comprehension, House rolled his eyes. "Survivor's guilt, little man! He thinks he's responsible for the Kutners' deaths, he thinks our patient died because of him, and unless I miss my guess, he's probably thinking back to when his real parents died, too. He watched the whole thing happen, but couldn't stop it. Never mind that he was six years old – not exactly capable of overpowering a grown man wielding a gun, or stopping bullets." The smile faded a little from House's face as he pictured what a child-Kutner had experienced. He felt pity, and sympathy, and that annoyed him. _Stupid file._ "That's a lot of loss for one person to live through. He dealt with that guilt for years. Now this whole fiasco has happened. He's afraid, and he's withdrawing and going all emo on everyone. He's cutting himself off from every still-breathing person who cares about him… which includes his BFF who hasn't left his side for three days," House pointedly indicated Taub. "He hasn't forgotten that someone out there wanted him dead; if they come back to finish the job, more innocent people could wind up getting in the way. Just like Richard and Julia Kutner." House stopped to let his words sink in.

Taub, for his part, was reeling. He spoke his thoughts aloud as he tried to process what his boss was saying. "You're saying… he's trying to get rid of me now because… oh my God… " As the terrible realization dawned on him, Taub stared at House dumbfounded, who merely gave him his patented "Duh, moron" look. Suddenly, he didn't feel so good. "He thinks if he makes me mad enough, I'll storm out and never look back. Somehow I'll avoid being caught in the crossfire. He's trying to protect me. I can't believe I didn't realize…" he couldn't go on. Taub felt relieved and angry all at once. _So Kutner was baiting me, pressing all the buttons on my insecurities and guilt – because he's afraid he'll lose me too. And I fell for it. God, I actually walked out on him! He's got no one left in the world, and I walked away. Ugh, and what I said… What kind of jerk am I? Why didn't I look harder; why didn't I listen to what he wasn't saying? _"What- what do I do?" he asked desperately.

"What do you mean, 'what do you do?'" House looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"I mean – do I go back in there and tell him I know what he's trying to do, or do I respect what he wants and leave him alone?" Taub truly was at a loss.

"_Is _that what he really wants?" House questioned.

"Um… no? I don't know! That's why I'm asking you."

"What makes you think I know what you should do?"

"Well, you seem to know an awful lot about what's going on in his head," Taub said pointedly.

"Ah, but I had help," House said, holding up the file Tritter had handed him. At Taub's confused look, he explained. "Tritter got a hold of this stuff. Files from the social worker who handled Kutner's adoption, copies of notes taken in therapy sessions, medical reports, et cetera. Don't ask me why Tritter gave it to me, but it's a good thing he did." House chewed on a pencil. "I'm planning on starting him on a low dose of buspirone, just to take the edge off."

"Seriously?" Taub was surprised; House seemed to know exactly what his course of action would be. And he felt a little perturbed that his boss was more familiar with Kutner's case than he was. _Why didn't I think of buspirone? Or anything? _

"It worked pretty well for him in the past, according to these notes. It should help with the depression as well. Plus, there's less chance of side effects and dependency than with something like Xanax. Once he starts therapy, they might want him on something else." House shrugged. "But in the meantime, this will hopefully help curb the desire to jump off a ledge."

"So you think he's feeling suicidal too?" Taub asked, relieved to know at least his worries were being taken seriously.

"Ummm…..If you mean, 'do I think he's about to actively hurt himself,' then…" House thought for a moment. "No. He's taking the passive course right now. That's where the refusal of food and water comes in. It's as much a punishment rooted in his guilt than anything else. Just like when he was a kid, and took unnecessary risks," House pulled out one sheet of paper from the file. "Trying to blow things up with a chemistry set and receiving second degree burns on his hands; the time he decided to take a walk on a third-story roof and wound up breaking his arm; the day he accepted a "dare" to jump from a bridge into an icy, flooded-out river… the day he decided to defibrillate a wet patient?" Taub's eyes went wide as he recalled the last incident.

"You mean, the defibrillator thing was-"

"Oh I don't know – I'm just trying to make a point. Bottom line, he felt guilty that he's still alive. So he had to make sure it wasn't a mistake. He wanted to test his limits, see how far he could push himself before the effort finally killed him. Or see how many times the universe would spare him. But all of that was active; like I said, right now he's passive, like he was immediately after the Choudrays' deaths. Not talking for almost five months-"

"_Five months??_" Taub yelped. _Kutner the hyper chatterbox, who talks about the most mundane details of his life like renewing his National Geographic subscription, was silent for five months as a child? How did I not know this? _

"-hardly eating or sleeping…" House continued, as if Taub had not interrupted. "Same things he's doing now. He probably won't cut his wrists or anything like that, at least not here. He thinks he deserves this, so he's going to draw it out to make sure he suffers properly. Besides, he's in a hospital, being watched 24-7. Lot of life-saving equipment lying around, and people who know how to use it. Although…" House sat forward, his eyes bright as he hypothesized almost to himself. "Now that he's gotten rid of you, or thinks he has at least, he might think there's nothing to hold him back. He could turn active, wait for the nurse to fall asleep, and-" House realized he was talking to air; Taub had left the room so swiftly he had barely noticed. House smiled. _Yeah, Taub is definitely the Wilson in that relationship… hope he gets his finances straightened out before Kutner bleeds him dry in the lunch line._


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

Cuddy was supervising clinic hours. Once again, House was nowhere to be found, but she decided not to waste her energy looking for him and reprimanding him about it. _He probably has his hands full with Kutner, _she reasoned. _That's where he needs to be focusing his attention anyway. _Her thoughts were interrupted when Nurse Brenda approached her and spoke in a low voice, "Dr. Cuddy, there's a patient here. He's, um, been asking a lot of questions about Dr. Kutner."

"What did you tell him?" Cuddy said, suspicions starting to bloom in her mind. This had to be important for the normally unflappable Brenda to be uneasy. She was one of the few nurses who had understood the full gravity of Dr. Kutner's shooting, and for her to encounter a patient enquiring about his welfare….well, it didn't sit right with her.

"I said Dr. Kutner was not working in the clinic today, and that another doctor would see him shortly. He went back and sat down, but about ten minutes later he was back at my desk, asking about him again. He did this three times, and I was getting ready to smack him, but something about him just made me feel creepy. He's being very aggressive."

Cuddy surreptitiously looked in the direction Nurse Brenda had indicated. She could see an annoyed-looking young man of about thirty, with longish hair sitting and stewing in one of the waiting room chairs. "OK, I'm going to go over and talk to him. If I get the feeling that this guy's not on the level, I'm going to look back at you. Then I want you to call this number, and tell Detective Michael Tritter there's a suspicious person in the clinic. It might be nothing, just a grouchy patient who wants the same doctor he had before, but I don't want to take any chances – we've got a crowd in here today. Don't make the call unless I look directly at you." She handed Tritter's card to a nervous Brenda and assuming her most confident manner, marched over to the waiting area.

"Excuse me, Mr. Donne?" She said politely, reading the name he had signed in with. She fleetingly wondered if it actually was his real name. The young man blinked up at her. "I'm Dr. Cuddy. If you're ready, I can see you in exam room 3."

"No. I'm waiting for Dr. Kutner." The man made no effort to be polite; he merely stated his intention and went back to sullenly watching everyone in the room. He didn't look sick to Cuddy – no runny nose, no red eyes, no feverish glow. He didn't appear to have any injuries or symptoms that would warrant a trip to a free clinic. _Anything serious and he could have gone to an ER. If he really needed medical care, if it was really important, he'd see any doctor he could get. Why does he specifically need Kutner?_

"Dr. Kutner isn't available," Cuddy said, endeavoring to keep her tone even. "I can see you now, or if you would feel more comfortable with a male doctor, you can wait in exam room 1 for Dr. Seburn. He should be-"

"I want to see Dr. Kutner," the man insisted, glaring at her. "I know he's here."

That plain statement was enough for Cuddy to covertly turn her head towards Brenda, who got the signal and began dialing the phone. "Sir, are you a friend of his?" Cuddy asked, hoping to stall until Tritter could arrive.

"None of your business," he said quietly. "I want to see Dr. Kutner now. I've been waiting for over an hour already."

"I am the Dean of Medicine at this hospital, and as I have already explained, Dr. Kutner is unavailable. I am more than willing to examine you myself, or you can wait a little longer for another doctor. But you will not be seeing Dr. Kutner today. It's as simple as that. If that is unacceptable to you, you can leave."

The man stood up to face Cuddy. And he really faced her, standing uncomfortably close, to the point where she could see the capillaries in his eyes. Eyes that were dark and harsh. "Or what?" he asked. He was challenging her.

"Or I call security, and they escort you out," she answered levelly. _God, where was Tritter? _This guy made her skin crawl. And with his build, he was more than capable of overpowering her – she had terrible visions of being physically assaulted by a crazed patient. _If _this guy was somehow connected to Kutner's attack, then she was currently standing face to face with a killer. _Oh please, don't let him have a weapon... _

Luckily, he didn't seem to be in the mood to tangle with her. Instead, he sneered, "I'm going."

Cuddy half-expected him to add a sinister '_But I'll be back!' _He didn't though; he just strode to the exit. Her eyes followed him out of the building. Then, feeling like her legs were about to give out, she rushed back over to Brenda who began frantically whispering that the call had gone to Tritter's voice mail. "I don't care – get security on the phone for me right now. I want that guy's description given to every guard in this place, and his picture at every nurse's station. If he comes back – I don't care if he's bleeding out of his ass – you sic the guards on him!" She looked down at the name from the sign-in sheet. _C. Donne… well, Mr. Donne, if that is your real name, then you're an idiot for using it. And you aren't getting within fifty feet of this hospital, or Kutner, again. Not on my watch._

_**He crossed the parking lot of the hospital and quickly got into his car. He drove a few blocks away, putting a reasonable amount of distance between him and those overly-suspicious folks at the clinic, and then parked by the river to think out his frustrations. That bimbo doctor had unwittingly confirmed his suspicions. He had failed to kill Lawrence Kutner. Somehow, even with three bullets in him, even being left to bleed, he had managed to survive. Someone must have found him in time. Someone who also worked for the crippled doctor. He remembered from the time spent lurking in the hospital, the short little man who always seemed to accompany his target everywhere. Maybe it was him. Or the pretty cat-eyed woman or the big black guy. He didn't know for sure, only that someone had found him in time. This meant he still had a job to finish. **_

_**He didn't know what condition Kutner was in now, or what sort of protection he would have. The first matter would determine how long he was stuck inside that hospital; the second would determine how easy it would be to gain access to him. He sighed. Why couldn't his victim have been with his parents, like he'd said he'd be? If he had been where he was supposed to be that night, this whole matter could've been settled by now. Such an inconvenience….now he would have to figure out how to get inside this hospital and take Kutner out, then get back out again without getting caught. **_

_**He opened his glove compartment and checked the 9 mm Jericho he had stashed there. He realized that perhaps he needed a different approach this time – the gun would be too obvious. Besides, if Kutner knew what had happened to his loving family by now, could that perhaps work to his advantage? His target was probably quite depressed and maybe feeling a bit suicidal. Well, maybe he could help move things along. As the staff in the hospital discovered the body and clucked their tongues in pity for the young doctor who had been all alone in the world and was too sad to be helped, he would slip quietly away, unnoticed. He could always go unobserved – he had stalked Kutner around that hospital for almost a month, getting a feel for his victim, doing his best to follow him, overhear phone calls, and silently observe conversations. He had familiarized himself with his prey's comings and goings before finally making his move. Unfortunately, somehow he had miscalculated, first with the parents, then with leaving the scene too soon. Never assume – that's what his father had always said. Now he needed to prepare to finish the task at hand. This time he'd confirm the permanence of the death. This time, there'd be no miscalculation. **_


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

It was evening when Taub re-entered the hospital room and silently indicated it was okay for the nurse to leave. Kutner had somehow managed to curl himself into a fetal position with his back to the door, despite the discomfort this caused his damaged shoulder. Frankly, the gunshot wounds were the least of his worries now, as dull spasms rolled throughout his back and stomach in waves. His whole body hurt, and the agony went far deeper than his injuries. It went through muscle and sinew, down to the core fibers of his being. It was like his spirit was trying to rend its way out of him in an effort to escape from the torture of living. According to the monitors that glowed with his vitals, his temperature had managed to creep up to 101.6 during the time Taub had been gone. Even though he was looking at Kutner's back, he could see the tension through the hospital gown Kutner wore. He could see that every breath burned him, snarling his already-hurting muscles into ever-tightening knots.

He silently approached the young man, and gently put his hand on his good shoulder. That touch, however, seemed to have unexpected fire in it, and Kutner recoiled, gasping in surprise and pain. He made himself turn to meet his antagonist and found Taub watching him sadly.

"I told you to go," he winced, feeling the pressure on his bad shoulder as he tried to get a visual on the older doctor.

"I know."

"Then what the hell are you doing here?"

"Because I don't think I really understood your reason for sending me out. Would you mind explaining it to me again?" Taub was doing his best to remain calm and placid. He had gotten too upset before, while Kutner had been the calm one. He had to turn the tables now. That would irritate him. He wanted Kutner to lash out; he wanted him to get wound up. It would prove there was still some fight left in him.

"I told you already – learn to listen," Kutner grumbled.

"Well, maybe if you tell me again, it might actually make some sense. You _were_ pretty convincing, but your lying still needs some work."

"I wasn't lying," Kutner barked, not looking at him.

"Sure you were. You do decently enough when you aren't making eye contact, but that's your tell. Try actually looking at me this time when you say you hate my guts."

"Get out of here, Taub. Don't make me say it again." He was getting agitated now.

"No." Taub stated flatly. "I'm not going to play this game anymore."

"It's not a game – I just want you to leave me alone."

"I don't think you know what you want, quite frankly. Explain to me why you're pushing my buttons. Why are you trying to pick a fight? Why are you taking back your forgiveness? Why do you want me out of here so bad? I want to know the real reason."

"God, please! Just go away! If you're here, I can't…." Kutner bit his lip, stifling his own outburst, and again looked away.

"Can't what?" He drew closer to the bed, unwilling to let Kutner back out of the exchange. "Can't WHAT, Kutner? What am I keeping you from? Eating? Crying? What crucial task is my presence here hindering you from doing?" Kutner winced, and still refused to look at him. But Taub wouldn't stand down. "Why should I leave you alone?"

"I destroy everything I touch."

The whispered statement hung in the air like a hovering insect, setting off vibrations throughout the entire room.

Taub's face couldn't hide his horror. There it was: the admission of his perceived guilt and blame, just like House had thought. He was right. But hearing it from Kutner's mouth just made the reality worse. Kutner's face was empty of any feeling, but his voice was tinged with bitterness and fear.

"I'm cursed. I've managed to kill four people whose only crime was that they cared about me. Even House's patient wound up dead because of me, because you and he were too busy dealing with my problems to pay attention to her case. I should be dead right now, too. I deserve to be. I can't -"

"Kutner, shut up!" _Please, God, don't let him believe this. Help me snap him out of this. Show him these are lies he's telling himself. _He leaned towards Kutner, grabbing both his arms, and made the younger man look at him. At this point, Taub didn't care if he was hurting him or not – he had to get through to him. "Do not ever say that again, do you hear me? Don't even think that. You're not cursed! NONE of this is your fault. Your parents…the Choudrays and the Kutners – all of them –they loved you, because you deserve to have people love you. They wanted you to be safe and happy and live a long, promising life. You have done nothing wrong. You don't deserve to be lying here, and you certainly don't deserve death! You didn't kill your parents, Kutner. Someone took them from you. And I'll be damned if I sit by and let you believe that you were responsible for this in any way!" By now he was aware that his voice was raised. He wasn't quite shouting, but he hadn't meant for his voice to do that – it just happened. He could tell from the defeated look in Kutner's eyes that his friend didn't believe him.

His theory was confirmed when Kutner said darkly, "He's still out there. He'll come back to finish it. I can't lose anyone else….I can't have someone else die because of me… because they got in his way….Either I wait for him, or I just go ahead let myself die… Please… Chris, please just go away… so I can die…" he trailed off into a whisper as the tears he swore he wouldn't shed began to fill up his eyes. Oh, he had not wanted Taub to know how badly he wanted his life to be over. He had desperately hoped - so very much - that once Taub had left, he would have the courage to take advantage of an unguarded moment; to blow air into his IV tubing the way that patient had so many months ago to cause an embolism, or find a way to tamper with his morphine dose, or obtain a needle that he could stab into an artery so that he would bleed out quickly. Something that could be done quickly and quietly. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing himself to hold it together, and also avoiding the look that Taub was giving him at that moment. He had waited too long.

Refusing to let him shut down again, Taub pulled Kutner up from his pillow and into a rough embrace. Kutner was too weak and too stunned to fight him. "Lawrence," he whispered, trying out that first name. It felt strange to call his colleague that – they always went by last names at work. But somehow, he felt in his gut that right now, Kutner needed to hear a name that was his and his alone – not a surname, not one that reminded him of what he'd lost. He had lost the Choudrays, he had lost the Kutners. But he had always been Lawrence, and would still be in the end. "Lawrence, we are going to find this bastard and he is going to pay for what he did to you, and to your parents. I swear to you, he will never be able to hurt you again," Taub muttered to him. "You aren't going to lose anyone else. And I'm not going anywhere. I'm seeing this through to the end. You're stuck with me, buddy. But I need you to fight, I need you to keep going, even though it might feel like it's too much. Please don't give up on me…" He could feel Kutner's heart pounding irregularly, could feel the tremors of pain and anxiety shaking his wasting body like a leaf. He could feel the hot tears soaking into his shirt. But he refused to let go. He worried that if he did that wounded spirit would make a break for it. At last, he felt Kutner reach up and return the embrace, first hesitantly, then more tightly, only able to repeat, in a broken whisper, "I'm sorry." He was a drowning man desperately trying to cling to something or someone to keep afloat. And Taub fought to keep him from sinking.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Kutner had cried himself to the point of exhaustion while Taub held him tightly, like a father trying to keep the monsters away. Now he was lying spent against his pillow, and he could feel Taub's hand clasping his, still unwilling to depart from his side, even after Kutner had tried to give him an out.

Though his eyes were closed for the moment, he wasn't sleeping. He was too tired to sleep, if that was even possible. His entire body felt like lead. Fortunately, his fever was down now, and it had fallen fast, leaving him breathless. He had never experienced a fever-break like that before. Frankly he wasn't sick very often, being blessed with an excellent immune system. In fact, as a boy, if he ever came to his mom and complained of illness, she would get right on the phone to the doctor – he was not the type to fake illness to skip school, so if he was actually ill enough to mention it, then he was truly sick indeed. The few fevers he had in life had always quietly dissipated, usually overnight, and he would wake up feeling significantly better in the morning. He was never aware of his body fighting a disease. But tonight, he had felt himself grow steadily hotter, more uncomfortable, and then wham! It was like being hit with a ton of bricks. He found himself suddenly drenched in sweat, shivering, and his temperature had cooled dramatically. "Oh, man," he had murmured in quiet surprise. It had been a breath and a statement all at once. When Taub had asked him what was wrong, he dazedly felt the perspiration on his face and said, almost wonderingly, "I think my fever just broke." After checking the matter himself, Taub had smiled at him with relief and confirmed that suspicion. He managed to coax the young man into drinking a bit of water, and Kutner had been able to feel every drop as it made its way down his throat and into his barren stomach. Less than an hour later, the reading from the thermometer indicated 98.9. That was one less thing to worry about at least. _I wonder if the crying did it. I didn't mean to cry that much, _Kutner wondered silently to himself.

The whole incident with Taub had been a mistake. He had felt wretched calling him out on his past comments; the look on Taub's face had hurt him more deeply than any bullet, and when Taub had walked out, as much as he wanted his friend to be safe, he felt his world grow smaller. He had felt utterly alone, and knew it was his own fault.

The truth was, he _had _understood why Taub had behaved that way a few weeks ago. The older doctor had been going through a tumultuous time, dealing with a job that was far less lucrative than the career he had built for himself as a plastic surgeon. House had exposed his financial situation to the whole team, which had really crossed a line in Kutner's opinion. He knew Taub was feeling like less than a man, unable to provide for his wife the way he felt he should be able to, toiling as a slave to a jerk like House. Taub wasn't where he had expected to be at this point in his life, and Kutner could see him experiencing sort of a crisis of faith. Which was why he had forgiven him for pushing him away and his cold behavior. Taub probably felt that Kutner wouldn't fully understand – he wasn't married, he was young and just hitting his stride with his career. Plus, as much as House could be a cold-hearted ass, Kutner enjoyed working for him. House was cool in his book, if only for the fact that he was a mad genius and a brilliant doctor. In addition, Kutner always felt that he got off relatively easy with House, torture-wise. So with all of their differences, he had not begrudged Taub his moment of petulance. It had hurt for a moment, but he had justified it in his own head, knowing it wasn't really about him. He had given Taub the benefit of the doubt. And then, Taub had tearfully apologized to him that first night after he was wounded, and Kutner reassured him with forgiveness. All this occurred before his life collapsed around him.

But the events of the past few days had frightened him to the bone, scared him senseless. The world he knew didn't exist anymore. His parents were gone. Murdered. Just like before. And he had almost been killed too. Just when he felt that the old scars of the past were fading in the light of new opportunities and possibilities for fulfillment, bullets came crashing through his body and ripped new wounds, both physical and mental. How could the same violence happen twice to the same person, unless they had pissed off the universe in a big way? Of course it was his fault. How could it not be? Hadn't his assailant indicated as much before that final shot? _It was supposed to just be me… It should have just been me. What did I do wrong? What am I being punished for? _His guilt had given rise to all sorts of supplementary fears, the greatest of which involved the safety of those around him. Did the killer know he was still alive? Would he enter the hospital to find him? Would he try to finish what he started, even with doctors and nurses and security swarming around? He wasn't even remotely sure, and the uncertainty of every passing moment caused him no small amount of torment.

The idea of what happened to his parents kept seeping its way into his reality, as much as he tried to block it out. He didn't want to think about them, lying in refrigeration downstairs in the morgue. His daydreams and unconscious thoughts began to consist of seeing people gunned down in front of him. It was not just his parents that he saw; it was Taub who was cold and riddled with holes; it was Foreman whose pristine designer suit was stained dark red; it was Thirteen with blood seeping from her mouth; it was House whose blue eyes were lifeless and unseeing. And in every awful vision, he was left standing alive, more blood on his hands, more bodies in his wake. This was why he had decided to give up sleeping.

It seemed like there was only one course – if he died, everyone would be finally safe. Sure, maybe some people would be a little sad and disappointed in him, but at least they'd be alive. They would eventually forgive, forget and move on. He didn't mind the thought of death – 'everyone dies,' as he had told himself and everyone who expressed sympathy for his childhood tragedy. But the 'dying' part – getting to the final destination scared him. He had wondered if having a say in how he went, having some control over the method, would make it less frightening. He was preparing himself, quietly cutting himself off from those well-meaning folks who tiptoed around him in his grief. But foolish Taub had returned, had called him on his bad behavior and it all came pouring out. He couldn't help but feel safer as Taub clung on to him – even as Kutner was mentally struggling with how he could keep his dear friend out of harm's way, Taub was fighting to keep him from giving up completely.

He didn't _want_ to be alone… but he wasn't sure he was worth the risk. He cared about his friends and he didn't want to hurt them. But he was still afraid for them. Short of killing himself, how was he to reconcile these two issues?

He heard the door to his room slide open, and for a moment, even though he remained still beneath his blanket, his heart jumped – was he about to hear the click of a gun? No. Even with his eyes closed, he could hear the irregular footfall of his boss. He heard him approach, felt Taub shift slightly, though he didn't release Kutner's hand. He could hear the two of them talking low.

"Need you in my office."

"What's up?"

"Tritter needs to talk to us; I paged Foreteen. They'll meet us there."

"Umm… I don't know…"

"Got a nurse waiting outside. She'll sit with him until you get back." He heard House's voice soften a bit. "How is he?"

"Fever's broken. He's worn out, though."

"Amazing what a little tough love can do, eh?"

Before Kutner could wonder what that meant, he felt Taub's hand move to his shoulder and gently squeeze it. "Kutner?" he said softly.

_He doesn't realize I'm awake. _Kutner lifted his heavy, swollen eyelids and met Taub's weary gaze. Taub continued, "I need to run out for just a second. I'll be right back, okay?" He looked like he was afraid to walk out the door again. Afraid that Kutner would follow through on his earlier plot, despite their talk.

But Kutner maintained eye contact. He wasn't completely dissuaded from the thoughts of ending his life, but he kept that to himself. He wouldn't do anything tonight. He was far too exhausted. "I'll be here," he whispered. The sobbing had pretty much wasted what was left of his voice.

House observed Kutner during the whole exchange. He didn't like what he saw. Kutner looked awful, even worse than Taub. Obviously he had been crying – the tracks of his tears were still visible on his drawn face, and House noted that he had those "dying soap character eyes." It was a strange little detail he had observed frequently on _Prescription Passions_ – whenever a character was seriously ill, their eyes were always made up a certain way, heavily shadowed and red-rimmed against the paler foundation makeup. This was done in order to give a haunted, wasted quality to the actor's face, to convey fatigue, sickness, weakness, etc. The more shading used around the eyes, the worse off the character was, and sometimes you were looking at a potential ex-whoever, especially if the actor hadn't renewed their contract. Well, Kutner had the "eyes." Unfortunately, he had achieved the look without a makeup artist. Seeing him like this… it was hard to believe this beaten, desperate shell of a human being was the same effervescent young man who, only a couple of weeks ago, gleefully led him to believe that a cat had peed on his favorite chair (he had realized the truth by the time he got to the elevator, but he had been too proud of him to kill him for it). _At least he's talking now… sort of. Ok, first order of business tomorrow morning – get him on the buspirone, get some food into him, and find some way to keep his mind occupied. He needs to get out of this dark place he's dwelling in, and the sooner the better._

As the two men exited the room and walked down the hallway, Taub apprehensively inquired, "What does Tritter want?"

"He wants to brief us, since apparently Creepy McShooter came into the clinic this afternoon." Taub stopped dead in his tracks, horrified. "Chop, chop!" House called over his shoulder, and Taub had to shake himself back to reality and chase his boss down the hallway.

* * *

House entered his office, followed closely by Taub. Foreman, Hadley, and Cuddy were sitting at the table and looking very tense. Tritter was standing before them, along with the head of PPTH security. Taub quietly took a seat next to Hadley, trying to downplay the discomfort he felt in the presence of this assembly. "Ok, Tritter, go ahead and tell them." House said, still standing.

"We have a problem," Tritter said. "Dr. Cuddy informed me that there was a suspicious person in the clinic today – he was asking about Dr. Kutner and being very aggressive."

"Was it the guy? Did you arrest him?" Hadley asked, leaning forward in hope. The detective shook his head.

"Security didn't arrive in time to detain the suspect, and I was not here," he admitted. "But we've got him on the security tapes-",

"Well, where the hell were you?" Foreman demanded. "You've been saying from the beginning that Kutner's still in danger, and then you weren't around to make the arrest when the nut-job walked right into the hospital?"

"Dr. Foreman, at the time I was at the state prison in Trenton – gathering information about the man who murdered Dr. Kutner's birthparents."

Foreman closed his mouth. That seemed like a reasonable excuse. Maybe."Okay… And? Did he have anything to do with this situation?"

"He was serving two life sentences for that double homicide, recently was denied for parole again, but he passed away a couple of weeks ago. Brain aneurysm." Tritter grimaced. "Despite this fact, however, after talking with the clinic nurse and Dr. Cuddy, both of whom encountered the suspect, I believe there actually _may_ be a connection."

"What makes you think so?" House asked.

"The man in the clinic that Dr. Cuddy spoke to… he signed in as 'C. Donne,'" Tritter showed him the clipboard. He paused so House could take a look at it. "The man who killed Meena and Samraj Choudray was named Craig Donne."

A stunned silence ensued. Tritter pulled out the decades-old mugshot of Craig Donne, and the enlarged still frame of the clinic patient pulled from the security camera, and placed the two side by side on the table before the team. It was as though time stood still between those two figures. The resemblance was striking, despite the images being taken over 20 years apart. "A relative?" Cuddy asked, studying the photos.

"It's possible, although there are no records of Craig Donne ever fathering a child. He was never visited by any family while he was in prison. Whether related somehow or not, if he is the killer, he might just be using the name as an alias... allying himself with the real Donne and targeting the one person Donne left alive all those years ago." Tritter handed copies of the image, along with a written description of the suspect to everyone at the table. "I'm arranging for additional guards, not only at Dr. Kutner's room, but also at the entrances to the hospital and on every floor. From now on, this team, and no more than two reliable nurses designated by Dr. Cuddy are the only people allowed access to Dr. Kutner. Someone he trusts should be with him at all times, and he should remain in an isolation room for additional security. Once he is well enough to be discharged, we will get him to a safe house. If he absolutely has to leave his room for any reason –any tests that need to be run, or procedures, or whatever – an armed guard will accompany him."

House nodded, unable to think of any clever remark to use as a response. Taub anxiously rubbed at his chin, while Hadley chewed on a ragged edge of her fingernail. This was really happening. Kutner was still in danger. Why did this guy want to kill him? He was KUTNER, for Pete's sake!Each body at the table was on edge, and each mind studied and memorized the face of "Donne," or whoever the man really was. This was the villain who had gunned down Kutner and his family, who had left him to bleed, left him to die slowly and painfully.

"We're currently combing the criminal databases to see if this guy has any prior record. If he's in there, it might help us find him, as well as let us know what kind of man we're dealing with, how he operates. But while we do that, there is something else that you should all be aware of," Tritter continued, holding up half a dozen more security camera stills. "This guy's been here before. According to the footage from the cameras' archives, he's been hanging around this hospital for almost a month. He's been stalking Dr. Kutner. Which means he is also familiar with all of you."

He handed the images to Cuddy who, after viewing each one, passed them around looking a bit sick. There was one in the clinic with House and Kutner and "Donne" in the background. Another of "Donne" in the lobby watching Kutner, with Taub and Foreman also in the shot. A picture in the parking lot of Kutner exiting the hospital, and "Donne" in a baseball cap, leaning up against the brick wall and nonchalantly holding a cigarette.

House felt blindsided. He had been stressed enough when Cuddy had alerted him about the clinic incident. But now he was suddenly discovering that this creep had been here before. Multiple times. _He knows all of us. He's been watching for weeks before deciding to make his move. And I never saw him? I never saw the same random guy hanging around and observing my team? If I had noticed him, could I have stopped this? _He was so lost in the appalling thought of missing something so important that he did not hear Tritter's next question. "Hmm, what?"

"I was asking if you own a weapon, or have experience handling one, House." Tritter asked quietly. It wasn't accusatory, or smug. The man really wanted to know. House thought about how he should answer, and decided on the truth. The fun and games were no longer funny.

"I own a P229. It's in my desk."

"What??" Cuddy turned to look at him, shocked. Taub and Hadley looked at their boss in surprise. House was fairly outrageous, but he was also armed? Foreman was the only one with no reaction, as he continued to glare at the photos.

"You know the one, I used it to shoot that one guy…" House trailed off as he saw Tritter's eyebrows rise. "Not what you think! He was already dead." _Hmmm. No, that didn't really help._ "It was a diagnostic test," he shrugged, hoping that explanation would be satisfactory. It did sound a little weird though, now that he had said it out loud. Foreman's lip twitched slightly at the memory, but he maintained his stoic exterior.

"Oh my God, the corpse you shot in the morgue? The one that wound up breaking the MRI machine when you scanned him?" Cuddy remembered. She glared at him. "That was like three years ago. You still have that damn thing in your office?"

"Oh, come on. I got shot in here! I need it for protection," House hurriedly defended himself.

"The guy shot you because you're a jerk. You couldn't have just learned from the experience and behaved better towards people?" Cuddy asked through gritted teeth, fuming that her top doc had a weapon in the hospital and somehow she hadn't known about it, and furious that she was finding out about it with a cop in the room.

"Good God, woman, punish me later, okay? Men are talking about guns. What's your point, Tritter?" House asked, desperately trying to turn the attention back to the original question.

"I just wanted to know," Tritter said. "I'll need to take a look at it, and see your permit. We'll discuss that later. As for the rest of you, I think it would be advisable to equip you with panic alarms and Mace for now. We need to further assess the threat before we decide to give you any other sort of self-"

"Whoa, wait - so my whole team is at risk here?" House waved his hands to stop Tritter's talk. Taub felt his heart quicken. _Oh God… was Kutner right? I actually never thought for a minute his fears might have any merit. If he was right, and all those things I said turn out to be wrong, he'll never forgive himself. I'll never forgive __**myself**__. _

"We can't be sure. Remember what Dr. Kutner said? The gunman implied his parents were merely collateral damage, and that he was the real target. Your staff might not be directly in danger, but if "Donne" or whatever his name is tries to get back in here, tries to gain access to Dr. Kutner again, someone else could potentially "get in his way," as it were. He doesn't appear to have the intention of harming anyone else, but he has obviously proven that he will if he can't avoid it."

Cuddy leaned with her elbows on the table. "You don't have a case right now. I think perhaps you all should just go home and remain there until further notice," she said resignedly.

"Absolutely not." All eyes turned to Taub, who had spoken resolutely and flatly. "There's no way I'm leaving." And there wasn't. Not after he had fought so hard to win his way back into Kutner's room, into Kutner's trust.

"Now wait, Cuddy has a point," Foreman spoke up. "I think there's some merit to sending anyone who's not needed home. Kutner's on the mend, he doesn't need 4 attending physicians. House, you can do what you like – I think Taub and Remy should go home. I have seniority on the team – I'll stay," Foreman spoke up. He gave a small benevolent smile to his coworkers, as though he was doing them a favor. But then, he truly believed that he was.

"No, _I'll _stay!" Taub said through gritted teeth. This was no time for Foreman to be exerting any of his supposed 'authority' over him. "I've been with him from the get-go. There's no way I'm bailing on him now."

"Well, I don't want to bail on him either," Hadley said indignantly. "No offense, Taub – you've been great to him, really above and beyond - but you've been here for days."

"And I will be here for many more, as long as he needs me."

"Maybe you should discuss this with your wife?" Foreman said tersely. "She might object to you acting as a human shield."

"Maybe you should let me worry about that, and you worry about your own girlfriend!" Taub snapped.

"Excuse me?" Hadley yelped. Her eyes went wide at the sudden hint of what appeared, to her at least, to be a weird form of chauvinism.

"I _am_ worrying about her, which is why she's going to go home." "Eric, you can't just order me around. Don't presume to know what I'm going to do! I have as much right to stay as anyone else here." "Maybe we should ask Kutner what he thinks?" "Are you nuts? We can't tell him-" "Oh, so we're back to lying to him then? Since that worked out soooo well the first time!"

Ripples of argument began to bubble around the table. House closed his eyes at the commotion, and with a voice that could bring down the walls of Jericho, yelled, "SHUT UP!" Instantly, the noise ceased as everyone looked at him.

He took a deep breath. "Kutner is already worried about this very thing," House said, looking hard at each of his employees' faces, "and he doesn't even know What's-his-face was here today. He's terrified for all of you, even more than for himself. If we asked him what he wanted, he would either tell us all to leave, or he would take _drastic measures_." He put special emphasis on those two words, making sure everyone understood his meaning. "We can only imagine what those measures would be, given the state of mind he's in." After pausing to let that sink in, House continued.

"You understand there is a risk here. This kook could come back at any time, and he is obviously deranged. I could order you all home, especially since you're all snapping at each other like bratty little kids. But short of having you locked up, I don't have the power to keep you there." House met Taub's gaze, and held it for a moment before addressing the whole room again. He knew at least one person's decision had been made before the meeting had ever been called. "If there is any choice to be made it's up to you as individuals. If any of you is concerned about safety and wants to go home until the danger is over, you are not bound to stay. No one will think less of you – not your teammates, not Cuddy, not even me. Certainly not Kutner. Knowing this, who truly _wants _to keep working as usual?"

Three hands went up into the air, slowly but resolutely. _I thought so, _House said to himself.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note: **I have been MIA for a little while - been moving in to a new place, and only just got internet hookup yesterday. So hear's an update, live from my new home! Thanks for your patience.

Chapter Twenty

An hour later, the fellows trudged from the office. Taub headed back to the IC-Unit to keep his vigil; Foreman and Thirteen were going home for the night, but were to return the next morning as usual. After a great deal of heated debate, it was agreed that everyone should trade shifts with Kutner. This was decided much to Taub's chagrin – since winning his way out of his brief 'exile,' he felt rather possessive of his friend – but House argued that he was becoming zombie-like in his exhaustion, and he wouldn't be good for anything if he made himself ill. Taub was granted the majority of time with his friend, but he still had to allow Foreman and Thirteen to relieve him. With the possibility of someone watching their actions, they agreed to vary the times and intervals of their shifts, so that no clear pattern was discernable.

Tritter lingered behind in the office after everyone had left. He pretended not to notice the verbal dressing down Cuddy proceeded to give House about having a weapon in the hospital. But inwardly, he found the squabble great fun. Words like "irresponsible," "insane," "punishment," and "spanking" were vollied between the two professionals. He had always assumed that there was some weird unspoken 'thing' between House and Cuddy, especially after she had perjured herself on the stand for him. The heat apparently had picked up since then. He couldn't blame House at all; there was no denying that Cuddy was a magnificent creature. He had found his own head swivel to watch her walk away at times. The electric charge was palpable between the two as they argued, and Tritter momentarily felt like he was intruding on some odd form of foreplay. He would have excused himself if he hadn't wanted to speak to House further.

"I just don't see why you have to keep it here! What were you thinking? _Were _you thinking? What if some random person found it and decided to use it?"

"Don't you have security to keep the scary, unstable people out of our private offices and away from our personal firearms? The same crack security team that prevented my shooting three years ago and the hostage situation in the clinic last fall? Hmmm? Oh _wait_!" House gave her a withering glare.

"Enough about that, don't you dare try to change the subject. Please, tell me you don't actually carry it around with you when you see patients?"

"No, that is not a gun in my pocket – I just get very happy when I see you," House rolled his eyes. "Cuddy, geez, I may be somewhat crazy but I'm not nuts! The gun is locked in a drawer, hidden beneath some folders, and the bullets are in a separate place altogether. If someone did get into my desk, they wouldn't know to look for it."

"The minute the emergency is over, you get that thing out of the hospital. I don't care where it goes, or what you do with it, but it is not staying in your office. Is that clear?" Cuddy stood with her hands on her hips.

"Yes, Mommy," House responded, mockingly meek.

"I mean it, House. Everyone's on their last nerve, I have police on every floor, and my right eyelid has been twitching since Monday night. The last thing I need right now is you waving your big gun around." She had lowered her voice to an urgent murmur as she spoke about the police, and leaned forward toward him in an effort to be discreet. House looked down into her eyes as she pleaded.

"It's not the size that counts, it's how you use it. And I _do_ know how to use it. _Very _well," House gave her a little suggestive grin. "But it _is_ also pretty big, comparatively." Tritter blinked and quickly began shuffling the photos on the table in an effort to remind them that he was still in the room. They separated instantly and Cuddy marched toward the door. She turned one final time to give him a warning look, then left.

The two men remained awkwardly silent for a moment. Then House took a breath and said, "So, did you want to see the gun or what?" Tritter nodded, and followed as House went into his inner office. He sat at his desk, and unlocked the bottom drawer. After pulling out several thick folders, he pulled out a small lockbox with a combination lock. He twirled the dial and it opened. He pulled out the shiny black firearm, as well as the small piece of paper lying underneath it, and handed both to Tritter. "That's the permit. Bullets are hidden in my sarcoidosis textbook."

Tritter raised an eyebrow. "Why did you hide them there?"

"Because the lupus textbook was already taken," House replied curtly. He didn't bother to mention that what was hidden in the lupus book was an extra stash of Vicodin. Tritter shrugged and examined the permit for the gun.

"Looks like everything is in order." He handed back the permit, and proceeded to examine the unloaded gun. "It's a nice piece. How good a shot are you?"

"Pretty decent. I'm a military brat, I learned how to handle a weapon by the time I was fifteen." House paused, then said, "Are you really thinking that I might wind up needing to shoot this guy if he comes back?" The thought made him uneasy. He didn't like the idea that someone's life might be relying on the steadiness of his aim rather than the efficiency of his medical mind. He would do it if he had to, but geez, he had almost forgotten he had bought the damn thing in the first place.

"I sincerely hope it won't come to that, House." Tritter looked at him seriously. "But you should be prepared, just in case."

"I'm surprised you would even consider allowing me to be armed."

"Well, it's not normal procedure, but this is a very unusual situation. And I… think I can trust you," Tritter muttered. It felt strange for him to say those words to House.

And it was just as strange for House to hear them from Tritter. House hated Tritter, for all the misery he had put him through, for trying to destroy his career, for trying to send him to jail… for everything. And yet, at that moment, he didn't quite _hate_-hate him. He didn't like him by any means, but he didn't have the usual urge to push the man out the window like he normally did.

"So I guess that means I can trust you as well, then," House mused.

"You can. I told you before – Dr. Kutner's safety is my priority and that takes precedence over whatever history we might have. I know you can agree with that," Tritter gave him a tiny smile. "I'm going to go procure those panic alarms to give to your team in the morning. Walk you out?"

House shook his head. "I'm going to stick around for a bit longer….. Hey Tritter?" He called Tritter back before he could leave. "You said something about a safe house earlier?"

"Yes. As soon as Kutner can be safely discharged, we'll move him to an isolated safe house with a small protection detail, until we can get Donne in custody. And no, I can't tell you where the house is located," he spoke quickly, before House could speak the words Tritter believed were forming behind his lips.

"I wasn't going to ask where it was, you twerp. I've seen 'In Plain Sight,' I'm not a moron. I was going to ask…" House paused, unsure whether he should even mention it. "I wanted to know if I could accompany him."

Tritter was stunned. That wasn't what he expected this antisocial misanthrope to say at all. "You? Are you being serious?"

"Yes. He's still recovering from a complicated surgical procedure, and he will need some rehabilitative care. And the way he is emotionally and mentally right now, he needs to have someone familiar around, to remind him to eat and sleep and take medication when he needs it. I'm really good at giving him orders. He'll listen to me." House couldn't quite meet Tritter's eyes, but he spoke with conviction.

"Wow. Well…" Tritter hemmed for a moment. "I must say, after the demonstration of solidarity I saw here tonight, I'm not really surprised to hear such a request. Although, I rather thought, if anyone were to ask, it would be Dr. Taub, not you. From what I've gathered, he seems to be assuming the family role for Dr. Kutner."

House nodded. "Yeah, he is. Actually, they had a bit of a falling out earlier. Kutner is so worried about the safety of his friends that he ordered Taub out of his sight. Luckily, Taub figured out what he was actually doing and got back in there before Kutner could do anything to himself." House rubbed his forehead. He didn't mention that Taub figured it out only after hearing House spell it out with the information in the confidential file Tritter had given him. He wasn't entirely ready to acknowledge to the detective that the file had been helpful. "They're back on track now. But at some point, the hand-holding will need to stop, and Kutner will need to pull his own life together. Taub also has a wife at home, and frankly I don't know how well his marriage will fare if he disappears to God-knows-where for weeks or months or however long it takes you to catch Dunce-"

"Donne."

"Don't care. The point is, Kutner needs someone with him. But he wants to protect the people he cares about, so he would never allow Taub to accompany him."

"You're not included in the circle of people he wants to protect?"

"I think I'm the best choice," House said, ignoring the question. "I'm not tied down with any family responsibilities, Foreman can step in on any cases that may arise. I've got some vacation time coming to me anyway."

Tritter studied the doctor for a moment. House appeared to have his mind made up. He knew what he wanted. But it was highly against procedure to allow a companion to accompany a witness into police protection, even if the witness was injured and in need of medical supervision. Ideally, if they could catch Donne before Kutner was physically able to be discharged, they wouldn't even need the safe house. But of course, all contingencies must be planned for. "I can't make any promises, House. But I will see what I can work out." House nodded. He hadn't expected much from his request. He wasn't even entirely sure what had made him ask in the first place, but the mere fact that Tritter said he would consider it was a step in the right direction.

As Tritter left for the night, House pulled out his cell phone and pressed #1 on his speed dial. He needed Wilson to help him with his next project.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Taub snuck quietly back into Kutner's room, resuming his earlier position. He was relieved to see Kutner still alive and well, breathing evenly and with all the appearances of being asleep. But there was still such a visible strain on his face. Still no peace. Would that ever come, even after he had had time to grieve properly? Something in him wanted to reach over, to smooth that tension away from his young friend's forehead, but he held himself back. Would that be crossing a line? It had been a major personal breakthrough for him to embrace Kutner the way he had earlier – he was not used to physical displays of comfort or tenderness. Demonstrations of affection with his wife were one thing, but he had never before endeavored to have any sort of hug with a male friend or family member. The embrace had been as much an effort to contain the young man's flagging spirit as well as a display of his support and commitment to the friendship. It had surprised even him, and for a moment he felt like a father holding a child. But he wasn't Kutner's father, and despite being younger than his own 43 years, Kutner was not a little boy. He could not assume a paternal role – he could not attempt to replace either of the fathers the young man had lost, and it was not his place to be parent to his colleague. He could only be Kutner's friend, at most a brother. But that would be more than fine. He liked the thought – he had always wanted a brother. He only wished the circumstances were not so awful.

As he sat quietly by the bed, he gently put his smallish surgeon's hand on top of Kutner's larger brown-hued hand, the one that still had a small bandage on it from when he had roughly ripped his IV out. The needle had dragged a thin, ragged tear almost 2 inches long, and Kutner had been far too upset to either notice or care. It wasn't a serious wound, but the bandage seemed to add to the fragility of the form lying before him. At the hesitant touch, Kutner's eyelids flickered halfway open. His deep brown eyes, red-rimmed and raw from tears and fatigue, met Taub's hazel ones, clouded with worry and weariness. Taub gave him a small reassuring smile, as if to say, _It's okay. I'm back, and I'm not leaving you – just rest now. _Though Kutner was far too exhausted to talk to him, he gave Taub's hand a flimsy squeeze, as if to say, _Yes, I'm still here, still breathing. I kept my promise. I'll try to live, because you asked me to. I'm glad you're here. _He allowed his eyes to close, and at some point during the night, both men managed to drift off, their hands still clasped as though that connection were a tangible lifeline.

_He wasn't sure what awakened him, aside from the sudden realization that he had, in fact, been asleep. It was so dark in his room, he could only see shadows. Where was the reassuring glow of the monitors? He thought he saw someone standing to his right, facing him. The figure was decidedly male, and at first, he thought it was Taub. But no. The figure was too tall, and besides, he could still feel Taub holding his left hand. House? No, there was no cane. Foreman? Not broad enough in the shoulders. He couldn't tell who it was, and he suddenly felt his heart jump into his throat. A faint shaft of light from somewhere illuminated the facial features, and his eyes went wide. It was __**him**__. The man lifted his hand and pointed past him. Unwillingly, he turned his head to the left, and Taub was still in his chair by the bed, holding his hand and watching him with a fixed, glassy gaze. But the trickle of blood from the bullet hole in his forehead glittered black in the darkness. Upon realizing that he was dead, Kutner screamed and jumped…_

"Kutner! What's wrong?" Taub was jolted awake by the sudden spasm next to him. Kutner was wild-eyed and sweating, looking hard at the empty space to his right. He turned at the sound of Taub's voice. Before Taub could repeat his question to the dazed young man, Kutner reached out and tightly gripped his shoulders, looking at him as though he had never seen him before.

"Taub, you're…" he choked out. "You're… alive?" He sounded unsure, as if he was still trapped in a dream, and the line between illusion and reality was still too fuzzy to discern.

"Of course I'm alive!" Taub felt Kutner's nails dig through his shirt and into his skin, and he realized there must have been a nightmare, a terrifyingly realistic vision of Kutner's fears come to life. "It was a dream, Kutner."

"B-but, he's here…" Kutner looked warily over his shoulder to the offending corner of the room, where the memory of the shadow still seemed to lurk. "He was here… the guy, right over there, and he killed you… shot you dead… and I didn't hear it, couldn't stop it…"

"No, no. Shhh…" Taub tried to soothe his friend's horrified ramblings. But this rattled him too, in light of Tritter's revelation that the shooter had come into the hospital earlier. But he certainly couldn't tell Kutner about that right now, not while he was in such distress. "There's no one here but us. You're safe, and I'm alive. There's a guard outside, and no one but Foreman, Thirteen, House, and I are allowed to come in. No one is going to hurt you. Or me. Please, try to calm down."

Kutner shut his eyes in an effort to control his breathing, but all he could see was that sight of Taub with the hole in his head. He moaned and shook his head to get rid of it, but it remained behind his eyes. He felt his own hands violently smacking at his skull to knock the image out of his brain, then felt Taub grabbing his hands and trying to prohibit his assault on himself. "Kutner stop it! Stop, STOP!" Taub spoke forcefully, aghast at the sudden physical outburst. "Look at me!" Kutner opened his eyes and attempted to focus on Taub's. "Look at me. It's going to be okay!"

Kutner had momentarily forgotten where he was, and it took a moment to register that Taub was real and living in front of him. _It was just a dream. It wasn't real. Oh, God, what's happening to me? I'm completely cracking up. _"Taub, I… I…" he stuttered.

"Shh, it's okay. Everything is going to be okay. You're exhausted, you've been without sleep or food for days and you're scared. Your mind is playing tricks on you. It was just a dream. Just a dream." Taub lowered his voice, and as he continued to speak soothingly, he felt Kutner's body relax slightly. But he remained unnerved by Kutner's reaction. _God, this is bad. A nightmare is one thing, but the way he was hitting himself… that was just wrong. I wonder if that file of House's said anything about that? I get that he was trying to erase the images of the dream, but… God, that was upsetting. I wonder if it's happened before, since he found out. I wonder if it's always my death he sees, or if it was just because I was here. _Taub tried to resettle Kutner upon his pillow, but he knew there was little chance of Kutner allowing himself to sleep again tonight.

"Taub," he murmured. "I'm so sorry. You've been here for so long, and I know you're tired…" he trailed off, but Taub could tell there was something else he wanted to say.

"No, buddy, it's fine. What do you need?"

"Would you just… maybe… just talk to me for a little bit? Just for a few minutes, so I can hear your voice? Please?"

Taub found the request heartbreaking. How could he refuse? He sat back in his chair, and softly asked, "Sure, but what do you want me to talk about?"

Kutner thought for a moment. "How did you meet your wife?" Taub gave a small smile to himself, and quietly began to describe the day he had met Rachel. A friend's wedding – he hadn't heard from that couple in years. Rachel had been a maid, he a groomsman. They had never met before that day, he had missed the rehearsal dinner because he had been on call. The day of the wedding, he had been assigned to escort her down the aisle, and she would walk him through his steps. As he spoke to Kutner, he vividly recalled how she looked in that spring-green dress, how she had outshone the bride with her beauty, which hardly seemed fair. If you couldn't be the most beautiful woman in the room on your wedding day, when on earth would you ever be? Upon learning what a stunner he had on his arm, he had silently cursed his own perceived physical shortcomings. He spoke of how, during the prelude, they had made small talk. He had been so nervous about having such a woman on his arm, and worried about messing up their entrance, and she had playfully said, "Stick with me, I'll keep you from getting lost on the way to the altar." How she had to stop him from entering too soon during the processional, and how she maintained eye contact with him through the ceremony with an amused smile, ready to give him the signal to take her arm again and lead her out. How, during the reception, they had found a quiet corner and chatted, until the strains of "You Were Meant For Me" drifted to them. Rachel loved that song, and as her eyes lit up at the recognition of the melody, he had boldly asked her to dance. Though he was no Fred Astaire, it didn't matter – they just quietly swayed in time to the music, and she had felt so right in his arms. By the end of the night, after the newlyweds had scampered off to the bridal suite and the guests were beginning to trickle out, he had worked up the nerve to ask her to dinner. He hadn't thought about it in a long while, that at a ceremony joining two lives, he had seen his future. And had he really almost thrown that miracle away for some flirtatious young tart that had stroked his middle-aged ego with empty flattery? Thank God Kutner had wanted this story – he had almost forgotten. How could he have allowed that memory to get so buried in the vault of his mind?

Taub talked himself to sleep, with the music in his ears. _'But I'm content / The angels must have sent you / And they meant you /Just for me.' _Kutner smiled at the peaceful contentment on his friend's face as he drifted off. He would not disturb the older man again, not when his dreams would be so lovely. He fixed his eyes to the ceiling and began, yet again, to count the tiles. There would be no more sleep for him tonight, no dreams of any kind. At the first sign of encroaching drowsiness, he unconsciously used one hand to pinch and claw at the other to keep himself awake. It didn't matter that soon the back of his hand was covered with sore, nail-like welts. He had to remain awake. He had to remain watchful. He had to keep those wicked nightmares of his from hurting Taub, from interrupting those lovely dreams of life.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-Two

"Time to wake up," a soft female voice coaxed him. Taub smiled, still with eyes closed, at the gentle prodding of his wife, wondering when he had fallen asleep in his chair. He was still pretty tired, and he didn't feel like waking up just yet. "Hey, Taub," the female voice urged. _Huh, that's weird. Wait a second – why would Rachel call me by my last name? _He opened his eyes, and started. He was surprised to find Hadley looking down at him, smiling at his confusion. His dreams had been filled with images of his wife, thanks to his reminiscing, and it took him a moment to remember that he was not in his home – he was in a hospital room by Kutner's bed. And Kutner was still lying there, quietly watching them, though looking a bit peaked, the dark circles beneath his eyes even darker than they had been last night. Obviously, his friend's night had not been so smooth. Had he really slept so soundly while Kutner remained awake and afraid right beside him? Guilt flooded him, as he realized that Kutner must have forced himself to remain alert all night to avoid the night terrors. And he had been oblivious to that torment, as he lazily dreamed of dancing with his wife in that green dress.

"Oh God. How long was I asleep?" He frantically checked his watch, which read 7:45 AM.

"Most of the night." Kutner murmured. He gave a small half-smile, though he didn't have the energy to maintain it for long. "You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to bother you anymore."

"You weren't…" he sat up and rubbed his eyes. "You could never... I'm so sorry, Kutner. I can't believe I slept and let you just lie there…" He looked appalled at his own weakness, though there was nothing accusatory in Kutner's eyes.

"Dude, it's cool," Kutner said. "You're really tired. I understand." Once again, Kutner's willingness to forgive completely shamed Taub, just as it had that first night after the shooting. _How can he keep letting me off the hook? I basically abandoned him, even though I was here all night. What on earth did he do to stay awake? _

"Taub, I'm here to relieve you," Hadley spoke up. Taub recalled the agreement that the team would take turns sitting with Kutner, as part of his protection. But now that Hadley was here, actually ready to take over for him, he balked.

"I'm good for right now- you can come back later," he waved her off. But she would not be swayed.

"Nooo, Taub, we talked about this," she scolded, as she reached down and pulled him up from his chair. "You've been here for days. You need to go home for a bit, eat a decent meal, get some real sleep, see your wife. You know I'm right."

"I obviously managed to get some sleep. I'm spry as a daisy…" he said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I just don't see what a few more hours will hurt-"

"Taub, it's okay," Kutner interrupted. "You should go home for a bit." At Taub's expression, he quickly clarified. "I'm not throwing you out again. You know what I mean… You're allowed to take care of yourself a little bit, and I promise, I won't do anything _weird_." Taub couldn't help but smile a bit at that. _Now that sounded more like the old Kutner._ _If only he didn't look so worn out, like a shadow…_

Taub felt relieved that he wasn't experiencing a repeat of yesterday's banishment, but he still didn't particularly want to go. He hesitated, unsure of what he should do, even considering just grabbing a nap in the on-call room. Kutner saw his reluctance. "Okay, then. If you won't go home and sleep, then could you do something for me?"

Taub looked up intently, excited at the prospect of being useful to his injured friend, especially after his little sleepy transgression. "Of course. What do you need?"

Kutner paused a moment, gathering himself before daring to speak the words. "I've been really selfish," he muttered. "I've been lying here wanting my life to be over, and I've completely neglected Mom and Dad… downstairs…" Despite his best intentions, he could feel the pricking behind his tired eyes.

"Oh, Kutner…" Taub sighed sadly. _Is that what he was thinking about all night? _He squeezed Kutner's hand tightly, and Hadley looked down at the floor.

"I can't leave them down there forever. It's been way too long as it is, and I was wrong to do that. I have to make that right. I have to take care of them, this one last thing. If you seriously don't plan on going home to rest, could you maybe," Kutner swallowed and made himself face Taub, his words pouring out faster and faster so that he could say all he needed to before they were drowned out by the threat of oncoming tears, "…maybe see if there is a funeral home nearby that can help me make arrangements for them? Cost isn't important. I mean, if you don't want to, I get it, I might be way out of line to ask you to do something like that, I just can't do it on my own, not while I'm in here, and if you were willing-"

"Whoa, Kutner, shut up for like five seconds! I'm more than willing. I can absolutely do this for you. I…" he swallowed. He barely stopped himself from saying he felt honored to do the task. Somehow, he wasn't sure it would sound right if he said it out loud. He looked for another way to say he would cherish the job. "Thank you for trusting me with this. I promise, I'll make sure they have the best." He leaned a little closer to speak confidentially to his young friend. "And you have not been selfish. You've been sick and scared. There's a big difference. Do not go down that road, okay?" Kutner nodded silently.

"Ok," Taub said, turning to Hadley. "Well, I guess I'll be back a little later. Take care of him… and make sure you feed him," he added, smiling slightly. Hadley followed him to the door. He lowered his voice a little to her, "He _has_ to eat something today, and he desperately needs to sleep. He drifted off briefly last night, but then he had a really bad nightmare, and he's still a little shaken up by it. It kind of shook me up too. I mean, it was _bad_." He let his eyes get a little wider to further emphasize his meaning.

She nodded in understanding. "Thanks for the info. I'll take good care of him, I promise. Please don't worry too much. You really should get some more rest, too. Oh, and before you leave, Tritter and House are in the office." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "They need to give you your alarm and your Mace and show you how to use them." Taub grimaced a bit. He had almost forgotten the need for those accoutrements of self defense. But he knew he needed to get those items before he went anywhere. It was as much for Kutner's sake as it was for his. He nodded, and as he turned he heard Kutner call to him weakly, "Go home and see your wife!" which brought a small smile to his face.

Hadley turned her attention to her teammate. She knew that his fever had broken and his infection was on the mend, but he still looked so frail to her – he appeared to have managed to lose some weight even in the brief time he had been ill, and he was so obviously tired. She was acutely aware that such exhaustion was not going to help him heal, and Kutner had to know it too. It amazed her that he had actually looked better the day he had been shot than he did right now; when she had seen him post-surgery, he had been pale and unconscious, but at least he hadn't looked like a wraith. A phrase from some book she couldn't quite place came to her mind that seemed to fit her colleague's condition: his fading spirit was _"all thin, sort of stretched… like butter that has been scraped over too much bread."_ It broke her heart to see what his grief and fear were doing to him.

Trying to cast off her worry, she endeavored to give a reassuring smile as she sat by Kutner's bed. "So, how are you doing?"

" 'M fine," Kutner murmured tiredly. _Yeah, right, _thought Hadley. But she didn't think arguing with him would do any good. She looked at him gently. "Taub said you didn't feel like eating while you were sick," she said, knowing full well that Taub's concern was about more than loss of appetite, but she didn't want to make it seem like Taub was tattling on him. "Now that your fever's gone, how about I get some breakfast in here for you? I bet you'll be able to sleep much better with something in your stomach."

Kutner shook his head, even though he could feel that tightness one gets through their belly when they've been without food for a significant amount of time. His stomach was rumbling at him, but his mouth felt like sawdust. His body wanted food, and he could recognize the call, but he simply didn't have the desire to eat. So, therefore, he would ignore the feeling. Eventually, it wouldn't matter anymore. Besides, how could he eat when his parents lay dead several floors below him? How could he nourish himself before he took care of their final needs? The very thought made his empty stomach twist in protest.

Hadley didn't want to drop the topic. "I know the food they give you is kind of sub-par… I could get you something else if you want, something from the cafeteria maybe? Or Foreman could pick up some real food from somewhere outside the hospital and bring it here for you?"

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," Kutner insisted, avoiding her eyes. Her pretty face puckered into a worried frown.

"Kutner, even if you're not hungry, you still need to try to eat a few bites of something-"

"Later, ok?" Kutner said, finally looking at her. His eyes spoke volumes, telling her in no uncertain terms that she needed to stop pushing. Hadley sighed. _Well, maybe right now he wants to sleep instead. I'll try again in a little while. And if I can't get him to take any food for me, I will just have to bring in the big guns. House will scare the snot out of him and then he'll have to eat something. _

"Okay," she acquiesced, changing the subject. She didn't want him getting upset or feeling pressured and thereby potentially damaging the chance to get him to do anything beneficial for himself. "Later, then. In the meantime, how about you try to get some rest instead? A little nap, since you didn't sleep very well last night?"

"No…" Kutner said quietly. "Would it be okay if… if you could just talk for a bit?" Hadley raised her eyebrows. _Does he mean have a conversation, or does he just want to hear someone's voice? Would that soothe him, maybe keep the frightening thoughts away? I suppose this is a step forward from that terrible silence he was locked in these past few days._

"Sure, we can talk," she smiled, intentionally changing his wording as a subtle invitation for him to speak as well. "If it would help…"

"My mom…" Kutner began, then trailed off. Hadley searched his face as he tried to decide whether he wanted to continue. She was relieved when he did. "The Kutners were the second foster home I was sent to. It was five months after my parents died." He bit his lip. "I stopped talking after I lost them. I didn't say a word until a couple of weeks after I moved in."

"You didn't talk for five months?" Hadley asked quietly. She didn't want her voice to betray her shock at this information.

"Not a word," Kutner shook his head. "The first home I was in, a transitional home… I never knew for sure, but I think they might have thought I was developmentally challenged, autistic or something. But I wasn't. I just didn't want to talk. They assumed that because I didn't speak, I couldn't process words or thoughts. But I could understand everything being said to me. It's amazing what you can learn about people when you just watch and listen."

_So that's where his observation skills developed, _Hadley thought, recalling how he figured out the coffee machine repairman (who had actually been House's private investigator) wasn't really a repairman because of the argyle socks he wore; how he was able to sift through all the muckety-muck of everyday life and figure out that she and Foreman were still together, despite publicly breaking up for House's benefit; the way he had noticed the rash on her wrist from her bracelet on their last case, when Foreman, Taub, and even House had not; how he had been able to read her inner struggles with her own mortality so clearly, even though she thought she was so good at hiding them. Despite his penchant for peppy chatter, he also had an incredible capacity for listening. _He probably knows more about us than we realize, just from observing us. _

"What made you start talking again?" she asked gently.

Kutner felt the memory wash over him. "I was having insomnia at that time too. I dreaded going to bed. My mom… before she was my mom… she would sit with me, and just talk to me until I fell asleep. Sometimes it took hours, but she would just talk quietly. Sometimes she would read to me… sometimes she would tell stories of places she had been, or things she did when she was young, or things she and Dad had done together. Every night for almost three weeks she did this. Then one night…" he swallowed, then resumed, "… she had been reading from a library book that had children's versions of great legends and myths and stuff for a couple of days, and one night she started reading one story, and I recognized it as the Ramayana." At Hadley's puzzled look, he explained. "The Ramayana is a Sanskrit epic, a really important literary work in India. I guess you could think of something like the King Arthur legend to get an idea of its scope and cultural importance." Hadley processed that, and nodded for him to continue. "Anyway, I had heard the story before, because my parents… my birthparents… had a copy of the full epic. I didn't have any traces of my old life around me, and then I suddenly heard something familiar and I guess I got excited." He smiled a bit sheepishly, and Hadley chuckled, as she imagined Kutner's childlike enthusiasm emanating from a young boy.

"Basically, I wound up telling her the Rama story… just the general gist of it, which was what I was able to remember at that age. And she just listened, and reacted in the right places, and I didn't realize that I had broken my silence until I was finished." He shrugged.

"It must have been scary," Hadley mused. "Being in thrown into such a strange situation after what you had experienced, away from everything you had known."

Kutner nodded. "Yeah… I had to meet with a counselor every week, and I was home-schooled for four years. Strangers made me really nervous, and I didn't like being left alone. It got easier, though. Mom and Dad were really… they were really patient with me…" He felt the lump return to his throat. "On my ninth birthday, they told me they wanted to adopt me. Make it permanent. I was… I was really happy, but I remembered wondering if I was allowed to be happy, if I was betraying my real parents by accepting a new family. But they said it was okay, that they weren't trying to replace my birthparents, but they loved me and wanted to raise me as their own. And I… called them 'Mom' and 'Dad' for the first time that day." Kutner's voice broke, and the tears finally came, because those two loving people had been torn from his life with no warning.

Hadley couldn't help herself – she bent over and took her colleague in her arms and gave him a gentle hug. She felt him sit up a bit to return it, and they remained that way for several moments. "I'm sorry," Kutner murmured, his voice breathing into her ear. "It's just been starting to really sink in that, you know, they're gone," he sniffed.

She rubbed his back gently, avoiding getting too close to his wounded shoulder. "I know," she said quietly, feeling her own heart ache. She knew what it was to lose a parent, to not have had that final goodbye. But she felt that her loss couldn't begin to compare to her friend's.

She felt Kutner begin the release of the embrace, and as he sniffed, she pulled away so he could wipe his eyes and nose. But before she could reach for a tissue to give him, she saw the back of Kutner's hand as he brushed the tears away, the hand which had been hidden by the sheets before now. "Kutner!" she exclaimed in alarm. She reached out and caught hold of his wrist.

Kutner's hand was covered in scratches, red and glaring. Some were superficial, but two or three looked especially angry and blood had been drawn from the delicate capillaries beneath his skin. Frankly, it looked like his hand had gone ten rounds with a pissed-off cat. The scratches weren't life-threatening by any means, but how on earth had they gotten there? "What happened to your hand?" Hadley demanded.

Kutner looked up at her. "I… don't know. I guess I scratched it." He looked genuinely perplexed at the carnage his own nails had inflicted.

"Why, was it itching? Did you not see how deep you were scratching?"

"No, it didn't itch… at least, I don't think it did. I didn't really notice. I just…" he hesitated, then said meekly. "I needed to stay awake."

Hadley was speechless. She had no idea what to say to this admission. She knew Kutner had been worried about nightmares, but did he seriously resort to maiming himself in order to avoid the possibility of a scary dream? And what was she supposed to do, scold him like a toddler who drew on the wall?

"Well, I need to put some antiseptic on this," she said matter-of-factly. She stood to go to the supply cart, but before she let go of his hand, she said in a small voice, "Please don't do this anymore, Kutner."

Kutner sheepishly looked at his blanket, "Sorry." Hadley grabbed an antiseptic spray and a couple of band-aids and set about repairing the minor damage Kutner had inflicted upon himself. As she worked, she was vaguely aware that Kutner had not technically responded to her request. He had not promised to cease the scratching. Then again, he had truly seemed surprised at the sight. There was no deception or denial in his open, guileless face. Had he not known he was doing it? Maybe it was an unconscious tic? She had to tell House about this.

**Author's Note: **Now, I promise I'm not making Kutner into Emo!Kutner - just bear with me. Also, to avoid any copyright infringement, I must state my source: the italicized quote Hadley recalls is from "The Fellowship of the Ring" by Tolkien.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

After seeing to Kutner's hand, Hadley sat by his bed once again. She sought to soothe him, hoping that she could lull him to sleep, in the manner Julia Kutner had so many years before. She talked low and gently to Kutner, occasionally asking him vague questions that he didn't need to fully expand upon, just to gauge his level of alertness. Once or twice she had to pull his hand back when he appeared to be about to scratch the other one, but she had the discretion not to call attention to it beyond that subtle motion.

Fatigue broke over Kutner like waves on the shore. He realized that Hadley was innocently trying to soothe him to sleep, but the very last thing he wanted was to drift back into the wanderings of his own mind. What other awful things would he see if he went back there? So it was some relief when the door to his room slid sharply open and House strode in. "Morning, peeps," he said, in a surprisingly chipper manner.

House flung his backpack to the floor and approached the bed with a plastic bag in his hand. "I've got it from here," he said pointedly to Hadley. "You're sure?" Hadley asked, hesitantly. Her question was directed to House but her eyes were on Kutner. He tried to smile reassuringly at her, while House dismissively waved her off. "I'll be back in a little bit, then," she said, gently. As she left, Kutner felt a bit befuddled. Hadley had not seemed surprised at all when House showed up, nor did she bother to question why he was here or what he wanted. She acknowledged him and then left when he asked her to, no questions asked, no comments or barbs exchanged? It could only mean that she had known he would be coming here at some point. Kutner could hazily remember the previous night, when House had pulled Taub out for a "meeting" of some sort. Had they all arranged their various vigils over him, to keep him from offing himself? He felt like the object of some sort of conspiracy, some guerrilla mission of mercy or pity or worry or suspicion. It was a little unsettling.

"A little birdie told me you're not eating. Of course, I can't name names; suffice it to say, the little tiny birdie is a plastic surgeon with a rather large beak," House winked at Kutner, who merely responded with a humorless lift at the corner of his lip. "I don't blame you though. The patient food here is like a Fear Factor challenge gone horribly wrong. So I thought you would prefer something homemade…." He stuck his hand into the plastic bag, and brought out a Tupperware container of savory beef stew. It was freshly made; the container was warm. "Don't get too excited now," House said sarcastically, as Kutner eyed the little plastic bowl unenthusiastically. "Your stomach has been empty for awhile; you need to build up to burgers and fries."

Setting the container down on the little bedside tray table and strategically placing it in front of Kutner, House began to fumble for the spoon at the bottom of the bag. Kutner squinted at the container. "House, it says 'J. Wilson' in permanent marker on the lid."

"I said it was homemade. You didn't think that meant 'made at _my_ home', did you?" he scoffed.

"Does Wilson know you're giving me what I assume is part of his lunch?" Kutner looked disapprovingly at his boss.

"He'll figure it out," House wasn't concerned at all about Wilson's reaction to his purloined meal, because the truth was that Wilson had made that batch of stew for Kutner specifically, bringing it by House's office this morning upon his arrival. That had been one of several requests House had thrown at the oncologist in his late-night phone call.

It didn't seem to matter much where the food had come from. "Thank you, but I'm not hungry," Kutner said, in a crackly voice. He was being vacantly polite; it was a nice gesture, but he couldn't eat. He wouldn't eat.

House took a small prescription bottle out of his pocket. Kutner watched him open it up and pour a pill out. This action was nothing new, but he was baffled when House handed the pill to him. _What the… that's not Vicodin….it looks familiar though. _He hesitantly took the pill and examined it, then looked suspiciously up at his boss. "Buspirone?" he guessed.

"Yup. And guess who needs to take it with food?" House made a big show of sliding the soup container a little closer to Kutner. Kutner rolled his eyes, and said tersely, "Why are you giving me buspirone?"

"For the same reason as the first time you took it."

"What? You don't know if I was ever on buspirone!" Kutner said, shaking his head.

"I know more than you'd think I would."

Kutner had an icky feeling in his stomach, and it wasn't hunger. _It's not possible. There's no way House would know about my childhood. I haven't been on the buspirone in years, it wouldn't be in my employee medical file. There's just no way, not unless he had access to an older file or… _He recalled the fact that House had had no trouble uncovering his coworkers' deepest secrets. Why would his own be any different?

"I think you should drop it," he grumbled.

"I think I shouldn't," House smirked a little. "And just so you know, if you tell me that you don't need this, I am going to laugh in your face nonstop for about seven full minutes, because it is complete bull. So why don't you just save yourself some angst and take the darn pill?" House looked thoughtfully at him. "I know you're not feeling so hot," he said softly, the smile fading a little. Kutner saw that House's gaze was specifically concentrated on his hand, the one Hadley had plastered with band-aids. The worst of the scratches were concealed by those beige stripes, but there were other, smaller welts that were still visible on his dark skin. Kutner awkwardly tucked his arm beneath the covers, shielding it from House's view. But the eagle-eyed doctor had seen and recognized; from the information he had gleaned from that file of Tritter's, it didn't take a long time for him to extrapolate how or why those injuries had befallen that hand.

"I'm really not hungry," Kutner insisted flatly, looking straight ahead.

_Okay, Ghandi – you want to keep up your little hunger strike? You asked for it. _He leaned closer to Kutner, giving him the patented "House intimidation stare," training his electric blue eyes on the young invalid with such serious intensity, it made Kutner want to scoot back a bit, but he didn't really have anywhere to go.

"You know, if you were nauseous, we could treat it," House said quietly. "If you just didn't have an appetite, that would be understandable too; the meds might have suppressed it while you were sick. But you've finished the antibiotics, so you can't blame it on them anymore. This little fast you've been on has nothing to do with being physically unable to eat, and we both know it. I'm giving you a choice. You take seventeen bites of this nummy soup here from Chez Wilson – seventeen is a rather arbitrary number, but I won't ask any more than that, unless you actually decide you want more – and I will see what I can find you in the way of entertainment. Or," and here House pulled out his threat. "…you can choose to continue to stubbornly refuse food in hopes of just wasting away, as some sort of punishment ritual or whatever it is to you. The outcome for that is a little less fun – I put you on a feeding tube."

Kutner's eyes went wide, and then narrowed as he tried to figure out if House was bluffing. "I would never consent to that…" he began.

"Since when has a little thing like patient consent _ever_ stopped me from accomplishing my goals?"

Kutner was too stunned to speak for a moment. "You wouldn't dare..." he said hesitantly, but deep down he wasn't sure.

"You've known me for two years. I think you know by now I would totally dare." Inwardly, House chuckled at Kutner's horrified look. The young man saw the glimmer of mischief in those blue eyes, and felt anger welling up inside of him. Of course Kutner knew that his maniac boss would stick a feeding tube in him, whether he consented or not. _Laughing the entire time probably._ _My life falls apart, and he's trying to threaten me. He's basically telling me to just get over what's happened. _He was certain House saw his anxiety and his grief as failings, and of course, simply had to scorn that at any opportunity. The shame and irritation proved too much to bear. He was unable to stop himself as the words burst from his lips with an astonishing surge of energy.

"God, FINE! I'll eat the damn soup and I'll take the damn pill, okay?! I realize that won't be nearly as much fun for you as sticking a tube in me against my will, but either way you get what you want. That's all that matters, right? Maybe you haven't bothered to notice, but if you'd stop thinking of ways to be a complete ass, you'd realize my life is kind of going down in flames right now, and maybe I don't need your mocking!" Kutner stopped his rant to catch his breath. _Oh God, where did that come from? _He had not spoken with that sort of bitterness since his altercation with Taub the day before, and that had been meant to infuriate, to get Taub to leave and therefore protect him. The silence that followed his outburst was deafening to him, but he couldn't find any other words to say.

Finally House spoke quietly. "Kutner, I wasn't mocking you. I'm trying to help you here. We all are. Am I the only person who's not allowed to do that?"

As House's blue eyes looked expectantly for an explanation, Kutner felt himself grow flushed with unease. _That wasn't fair of me… _He had automatically expected the worst from his abrasive boss, and there was no justification for it. Since his attack and his bereavement, House had been acting remarkably… well, what was the right word? _Gentle_, perhaps? Or maybe, if not quite kind, then at least _humane_… or possibly just plain _human_.

"I'm sorry, House… I'm just… tired… Sorry," Kutner murmured in apology. Suddenly, his burst of energy had fled as quickly as it had come, and he felt even more weighted down. What was happening to him?

"No prob," House shrugged, dismissing the apology as he reached over to remove the lid off the container. Handing Kutner the spoon, he smiled again. "Since you agreed to those seventeen bites…" Kutner was too drained to respond. It wasn't worth it to resist anymore. He listlessly took the spoon and began the countdown.

He ate in silence, slowly and unenthusiastically. House watched each spoonful as it traveled between the bowl and Kutner's mouth. He kept his own internal count, just in case Kutner tried to renege on the agreement. _Twelve…. Thirteen… Why did I pick such a weird number anyway? I thought he'd at least negotiate. Fourteen…._

When the final agreed-upon bite had been swallowed, House watched Kutner put the spoon down and lean back, sighing. He seemed even more exhausted than before. "Good stuff, huh?" House asked, he covered the remainder of the stew.

"Yeah," Kutner shrugged. He didn't elaborate.

"Want any more?"

"No. Thank you." House nodded. _Well, at least he ate something. I did promise I wouldn't push it. _He placed the container and the spoon back into the plastic bag and set it aside. Then he returned his attention to the patient, plopping a small cup of water down in front of Kutner. He accepted it, but found it strange the way House was still standing by him, almost expectantly. "Was there something else?" he asked, trying his best not to sound grumpy.

"You still need to take the pill."

"Oh. Right." Kutner had almost forgotten the little white tablet House had given him. He picked it up and with a deep breath, popped it into his mouth, quickly chasing it with the remainder of the water. Once he swallowed, he almost defiantly showed House his empty mouth, to prove he had in fact ingested the pill instead of just hiding it below his tongue or in his cheek. Satisfied that this particular battle was over, House sat back down.

"There. That didn't kill you, did it? Hopefully, that will take some of the edge off. I'll give you another one this evening. But you need to let me know if you start feeling weird – you know, stomach irritation, dizziness, anything that doesn't feel right." House fiddled with his cane as he lapsed into silence.

Several minutes passed without any verbal exchange. But there was a palpable feeling of apprehension in the air that Kutner could feel now; something that wanted saying. Perhaps the temporary cessation of his hunger pangs made him more acutely aware of it. He wondered if House had been that tense the entire time he'd been here. Or was it merely his own paranoia, the same thing that had made him suspect that his boss had been mocking him earlier? Was his own imagination all that was causing this worrisome static in the air? "House, is there something wrong?" he asked, though not even sure if he wanted to know. If there was no problem, then he was still on his downward slide into cracking up from fear and anxiety; if there _was_ something wrong, then it would be very wrong indeed, and with this being the absolute worst week ever, he wasn't fully certain he could take more bad news. _You don't really have to answer me, House…not if it's bad, _he pleaded silently.

"Not wrong, exactly. There is something on my mind though," House said seriously. His mischievous demeanor had vanished. He had been struggling with himself since last night's meeting, and had decided it had to be brought up, preferably in a controlled setting like this, before it burst out and became yet another debacle. "There's something we need to discuss, and I… I want you to promise me you will stay calm and not get upset or irritated or anything. This is a confidential matter; no one knows that I'm telling you this. I'll answer whatever questions you have to the best of my ability, but I will not have you interrupting me or behaving irrationally. Understand?" He waited for Kutner to nod in nervous agreement. "I've debated whether I should even broach the topic with you, but after everything that's happened…" he winced a bit, remembering how awful it had been when the young man had learned the truth about his family, and his own decent but duplicitous efforts to spare the truth from him which had backfired on everyone. "… I think we owe you a little honesty."

Kutner watched his mentor's face, saw the anxiety crinkle the already permanently-furrowed brow, and felt his own fear begin to bubble up from his bones. "Nothing good can follow an intro like that. What is it?" He figured it would be better to view whatever it was in the cold light of day. Knowing was always better than not knowing, because then at least you couldn't imagine worse. Besides, what could possibly be worse than what he'd already experienced?

"The police want to move you to a safe house, as soon as it's okay for you to be discharged. Obviously, they can't tell me many details about it, but you'd basically be in hiding until the suspect is in custody."

"Do they even have a suspect?"

"Yeah…" House paused. _Well, he might as well hear the whole thing. _"Guy who goes by the name Craig Donne." He watched the recognition, then alarm, then confusion flicker over Kutner's face like a slide show.

"What? But… House, Craig Donne is the man who murdered my birthparents. He's in jail," Kutner argued feebly, attempting to puzzle out what was being said to him, which couldn't possibly be true.

House sort of nodded, "Well, actually, he's kind of dead." He had not been sure if Kutner knew of the demise of his parents' killer. From the look on the young man's face, it was apparent that he had not.

"Dead?" Kutner was shocked. "What… How did he die? _When _did he die?"

"Couple weeks ago, from an aneurysm."

_So that's it, then, _Kutner thought. _Donne is dead. My whole life altered by one person, and now that person is gone from the planet. _It seemed so strange now. He had hated the man for years, for robbing him of the childhood he would have otherwise had. Not that he hadn't had a good life with the Kutners; that wasn't it at all. Donne had ripped away his innocence, his idyll of domestic comfort, and to a certain extent his identity, for he had subsequently transformed from Lawrence Choudray to Lawrence Kutner. He had gunned down the two most important people in a six-year-old's world. And he had never shown any remorse that Kutner could see in a dozen parole hearings. But now, knowing that Donne was dead, it was like the door to his past was completely closed. In an odd sort of irony, Donne was the only remaining thread, the last remnant of connection to his birthparents. With this news, he was left feeling empty, as though he had lost them all over again. _But wait, how could_….

"House, hang on," Kutner asked, turning his wide eyes to House. "Obviously it wasn't Donne who shot me. Do you mean that Donne arranged the attack on my family from prison before he died, like a hit or something?"

"Well, that's the thing, they're not sure," House hedged. "The guy the cops are looking for is a youngish guy, about your age, who is calling himself Donne. It might just be a coincidence, or it might be an alias. At least, it was the name he used at the clinic-"

"The clinic?" Kutner exclaimed, alarmed. "You – you mean, he was here? At the hospital?" He struggled to sit up as his panic threatened to smother him. The searing pain he felt paled in comparison to the agitation of the newfound knowledge. The beep of the heart monitor increased rapidly, and House stood to prevent him from hurting himself.

"Kutner, cool it!" House said, forcefully, but not angrily. "I told you, you need to stay calm. Yes, someone using the name of the man who killed your birthparents was in the clinic asking about you. Yes, the police consider him their suspect. But he did not hurt anyone while he was here – Cuddy threw him out, and last night Tritter told all of us about it. Now they know who they're looking for. Your protection has been increased, and like I said the cops plan on getting you to a safe house as soon as you can be discharged."

"House, you need to find Tritter… tell him I need to go now!" Kutner said hoarsely, the urgency of the matter making him feel like he was going to jump out of his skin. It took all of House's strength to keep the young man from leaping out of bed and bolting then and there.

"Kutner, calm down, or I will restrain you, I swear to God!" House growled. The threat stopped Kutner cold. He was sure House would do it, too, without hesitation, just like force-feeding him. He tried to compose himself. He needed to prove he was in control so that his boss would take him seriously, and not dismiss his opinions as those of a frightened, hysterical child. _I can't let this happen again. I just can't. _

"Okay… okay," he said insistently. "I'm fine, I'm calm. I swear." He stopped resisting House's pushing, and leaned back on the bed, putting his hands up in surrender.

House wasn't ready to let his guard down just yet. "I know you're scared," he said quietly. "I won't tell you not to be. Your fear is valid, and you have every right and reason to be scared. I will tell you not to doubt us. You're being protected. Everyone - the cops, the team, Cuddy – is at the ready to do whatever it takes to keep this guy from hurting you again. You understand?"

"Yes," Kutner said in a small voice. "But – but what about all of you?" He looked up at the older doctor with fear in his eyes. "What if he hurts someone else while trying to get to me? House, I would never forgive myself if…" his voice hitched a bit as his nightmare came flooding back. _There are too many people between us. He'll kill as many as he needs to. Just like Mom and Dad._ _Taub could get hurt. So could Remy and Foreman and House. What if he uses them to get to me? _The thought was too terrible. He continued in a whisper, unable to hide his terror. "House, please. For the sake of everyone's safety… Please discharge me and tell Tritter I need to go now. Today."

_I tell him the guy who tried to kill him is after him and he automatically thinks of his friends' safety, _House thought. _Some people are so predictable. _He had had little doubt that Kutner would make such a request on learning the latest news. The question was, should he indulge his fears? Was it still too soon to move him? He considered his words carefully. "Kutner," he finally said. "Under normal circumstances you'd be hospitalized for at least another week or so. You're just coming off of major surgery, and your infection could still recur, or you could even experience some whole other problem. You know all of this, and you realize that there is a slight risk to your health if you leave right now."

Kutner nodded. "I know. But I also know that if I stay, the risk to all of you is greater," he spoke with conviction, refusing to be swayed. "I'll find a way to leave this hospital, House, with your help or without it. It would be a lot easier all around if you would help me. Please." Kutner's large brown eyes locked with House's blue ones, pleading with his entire fraying soul.

House exhaled and murmured, "It won't be right this minute. I mean, the police need to organize themselves and do whatever it is they do in these situations. But as soon as Thirteen gets back, which should be any time now, then I'll go see Tritter and try to get the ball rolling with this. Things will start happening very fast, so you need to make sure you're really ready to do this. Are you absolutely sure of your decision?"

Kutner raised himself up as much as he could, hoping to somehow appear more confident and brave than he actually felt. But as fearful as he was, he was also convinced that this was the only way to make sure everyone would be safe. "Absolutely," he said in a level voice.

"The next time I come to this room, it will be to take you out of here. And we need to be discreet about it – for everyone's sake."

Kutner nodded worriedly. "I understand."


	24. Chapter 24

**Author's Note: **Been traveling, and away from my computer for a little bit. But now should have a couple of updates coming over the next few days. Thanks for your patience - hope it will be worthwhile since the story has taken on a life of its own, and is going places I didn't expect. The ending is written, but we have to get there via the new trail! Thanks for reading!

Chapter Twenty-four

When Taub returned to the hospital later that afternoon, he found things almost exactly as he had left them – Hadley sitting with Kutner, who was still awake, though looking like he was struggling to remain so. In his absence, someone had moved a television and a DVD player into the room, and some sort of movie – which, from what he could see, appeared to be a weird cross between science fiction and a Western – was playing quietly on the screen. Despite his own fatigue, he entered with a smile, hopefully to coax one from Kutner. At the very least, the young man became a bit more alert when he saw Taub enter.

"Where'd this come from?" he asked, indicating the new equipment.

"I earned it," Kutner said, with an air of weary satisfaction, if not exactly pride.

"It was his reward for eating some food." Hadley piped up. She was clearly pleased at the development. She gave a wry smile and said, "House managed to convince him a little nourishment was in his best interest."

Taub's eyebrows went up. "House did?" he asked, trying to ignore the little pang he felt at the knowledge that his boss had succeeded where he had failed. _That's hardly the point, _he scolded himself silently for even being so petty. After all, it wasn't a competition to see who could care for Kutner the best. Hadn't he asked Hadley to make sure he took some food? He knew he should just be grateful that the poor guy had finally eaten something. That's what mattered, not who had convinced him to do it.

"He had the nerve to threaten me with a feeding tube," Kutner said flatly, still appalled at the idea. "I think he would have really done it too." Taub chuckled at Kutner's disgusted expression, but tried to cover it with a cough and shook his head. _I have to admit, that's brilliant – I wish I had thought of that. But then again, I guess it was scarier coming from House than it would have been from me. Anyway, I'd rather be the comforting friend than the browbeating doctor in this situation. _He didn't bother to admit to himself that, while he could probably have made a similar threat to coax Kutner to eat, he wasn't sure he would have had the stones to carry it out, while House would have done so in a heartbeat if he felt it was necessary.

"I'm very glad you ate. Did you also happen to get any rest?" he asked, though the answer was plainly written in Kutner's exhausted brown eyes.

"'M not tired," he said, shaking his head.

"Uh-huh, not buying it," Taub replied. "You'd be a lot more convincing if your eyes weren't half-shut already." Hadley was putting her lab coat back on, which she had discarded and hung over the back of the chair during her vigil. She stepped toward Taub who was setting his coat and bag in the corner of the room.

"House has started him on buspirone, but he still doesn't want to sleep – and he's going to great lengths to avoid it. You'll see for yourself, but he scratched the life out of his hand last night to keep awake," she said in a low murmur. Taub looked at her in shock. She quietly hurried to reassure him. "I mean, the scratches aren't serious, but I had to pull his hand back a few times when he was about to do it again. I don't know if he's even aware he's doing it. Just so you know…" She faced Kutner, and playfully but gently squeezed his foot. Kutner, whose mind had been wandering a bit due to his tiredness, snapped back to the present to focus on her. "I'm gonna head out. I need to find Foreman; I'll let you two talk. And I'll bring that movie for you a little later, okay?" she smiled.

Kutner gave her a tiny, lop-sided smile in return. "Thanks, Remy," he said sincerely. As Hadley exited, she gave Taub's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and with one last wave to Kutner, she left her teammates to discuss what she knew would be sensitive information. She understood that Taub would have been making funeral arrangements for Kutner's parents for the better part of the day, and she didn't feel that she should intrude as he laid out the details of those arrangements for the younger man. Kutner had entrusted Taub with that responsibility for a reason, and it was best kept between them. If Taub needed her assistance in that matter, he'd ask.

After Hadley left, Taub turned back to his friend. "OK, Kutner, what's up with your hand?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh… It's nothing." Kutner attempted to shrug off the question, but he couldn't quite meet Taub's eyes. Why was everyone so concerned with his hand? It wasn't a crime to stay awake, was it? He hadn't meant to do anything wrong – why was it such a big deal?

"Doesn't look like nothing," Taub said, moving closer. He could see the beige band-aids plastered over his right hand. That hand now mirrored the left, which still sported the bandage from the IV needle's tear.

"I just scratched at it a little bit."

"Let me see."

"Taub, it's fine, it doesn't hurt or anyth-"

"Let. Me. See." Taub repeated, looking straight into Kutner's eyes, his no-nonsense tone indicating that he meant business, and no excuses would be accepted. Kutner sighed in defeat and lifted his hand so Taub could examine it.

Taub looked at Kutner's hand carefully, uncovering the wounds as gently as he could. _Superficial damage,_ he thought, though his heart was pained to see the harsh red lines marring the delicate skin on the back of his hand. _No, the scratches themselves aren't worrisome; it's how he got the scratches that bothers me. _"You did this last night while I was asleep," he said quietly, more as a statement of fact than a question.

Kutner gave a rather embarrassed nod. "I guess I did. I didn't notice it until Hadley pointed it out though," he admitted.

_He's using pain to avoid the fear. The nightmares are becoming too real for him, so the only way to know for sure what's real is to stop dreaming. He did this to himself, and I slept like a rock the whole time! _He mentally kicked himself yet again for his negligence. He hadn't even noticed the broken skin this morning when he awoke – he had been too swept up in apologies for dozing off, then too consumed with the importance of the job Kutner had given to him_. No way in hell am I going to allow this to happen again – I don't care how much coffee I have to drink or how much talking I have to do. If he won't sleep, then I won't either._

"Okay… Well, they don't look too bad. We'll just keep them clean, and they'll heal up pretty fast." Taub didn't think scolding Kutner would be the right course, especially if it was an unconscious action on his part. It was clear he felt badly enough about it. Taub didn't want to cause him any further shame or humiliation. He could be grateful that human fingernails could only do so much damage; thank heavens Kutner hadn't decided to cut himself with anything, or something like that. He would just have to keep an extra-close watch on him, prevent him from doing it again. And Hadley was sure to alert Foreman and House to the situation, so everyone would be on the lookout for that particular behavior.

Clearly, Kutner's anxiety was becoming increasingly problematic. The buspirone could take a while to kick in, and the young doctor still required rest. "You really need to rest; I'm going to give you something to help you sleep for a little bit," he said gently, and stood to retrieve the appropriate medication. But the patient stopped him dead in his tracks.

"NO, you can't!" Kutner grabbed his arm, suddenly wide awake, his eyes full of fear. "Please, don't! I really don't want to sleep. And if you knock me out I won't even be able to wake myself up if… I don't want to dream. Please… please don't give me anything. Not now." He looked and sounded so distraught that Taub had to acquiesce, even if the reasoning he gave was irrational.

"OK, ok, I won't… not if you don't want me to. It's all right," he said gently, hoping Kutner would calm down. He didn't have the heart to force something that was so upsetting for him. _Maybe House can threaten him with something else to get him to sleep. It's just easier to have a bully play the bully on these matters – since it comes so naturally to him. _Despite his rationalizations, deep down he felt certain that Kutner would be completely unwilling to fall asleep naturally. The fear would make him resist as long as he physically could, and when and if he finally succumbed, that undercurrent of anxiety would probably cause fitful slumber and quite possibly more nightmares. Taub believed that the only way Kutner would be able to get even a small amount of decent rest would be with the assistance of heavy medication. The only problem would be getting him to agree to it.

"I did some research on, um… what you asked me to do," Taub said, changing the subject for the time being. Kutner's eyes clouded with sadness for a moment, but he took a breath and asked, "What were you able to find out?" He was willing to know, so Taub launched into the tale of how he had spent the day.

Taub had scurried around town like a man possessed. He visited no fewer than seven funeral homes, which he knew was probably far too many to inundate Kutner with. Therefore he had finally narrowed it down to two, both of which seemed quite nice and sympathetic and were willing to work with him as Kutner's liaison. He took notes and got estimates and some literature that detailed the various services offered by each establishment. He brought these findings to show Kutner; these were _his_ parents, after all, so he should give his approval before Taub went ahead with any of the plans. Kutner quietly looked at the various options in front of him. He was silent for a long time. Taub watched him intently. Had he overwhelmed the young man with too much? That had been his biggest worry, which was why he had gone ahead and selected only two funeral homes out of the many he had seen. But maybe he should have just made the decision on his own?

Finally Kutner said, so softly Taub could barely hear him, "I… I've never done anything like this before." He looked up with bright eyes. "I mean... I knew I would have to one day. But that day was too far in the future… after they had seen me get married, after I had my own children. I could have been… well, maybe not 'ready,' exactly, but I could have… I don't know. I have no clue what I'm saying," he trailed off, blinking quickly to stave off the tears that had inexplicably sprung up behind his eyes. His emotions didn't seem to have a cap lately.

"No, I understand you perfectly," Taub said, sitting beside him on the edge of the bed. "You should have had more time with them, lots more. But all the time in the world doesn't take the sting out of laying your parents to rest. And especially not like this, when you're dealing with all of this other crap as well." He put his hand on Kutner good shoulder. "That's why I will do whatever you need me to do – you don't have to bear this all on your own." _The grief is all his; I can't lighten that load. But at least I can find some way to show him that even if his family is gone, there are still people who love him in spite of all this madness. _

"All day I've felt like…" Kutner began.

"Go on," Taub encouraged.

"I… I barely looked at them last time… when I had to identify them. There's a big part of me that wants to go back and, you know, actually take that moment that I wasn't able to take before. I mean, to say everything I won't ever be able to say to them again. But there's also a big part of me that just… just doesn't want to see them like _that_ ever again. I don't know if I can go down there again… but if I don't, then I won't ever see them again, period, and they won't ever know… they won't understand…" Despite his stiff-upper lip, a tear finally plummeted from his eye. "I know that sounds terrible of me."

"Oh, Kutner," Taub sighed. "It's not terrible; it's human. When you went to identify them, you were still in shock. You were starting to get sick, you were still feeling the sedation we gave you… It probably didn't feel real to you. I know, I am completely sure, that your parents knew exactly how you feel about them. It's totally up to you; but if you would like to go down to the basement and see them, I'll take you."

"You would?"

"Absolutely," Taub said gently. He knew only too well what it was like to rue what you wish you had said. He remembered those bone-crushingly tense moments from that Monday, wondering if Kutner was going to die, wondering if the last words Kutner had heard from him were his words of rejection, of deceit; in that horrible scene where his own hands were soaked in Kutner's blood as he desperately tried to keep it from escaping his body, Taub had been screaming inwardly, unsure whether he would ever get the chance to tell him all the things he should have said before, and begging God for the chance to accept the young man's friendship and be the good, loyal, and decent person Kutner seemed to think he was. God, or Whomever was weaving these events, had allowed him that chance.

Kutner, on the other hand, had always spoken from the heart, achingly honest. But he would never get another chance to say "I love you" to the two generous souls who had raised him, who had given him his life back. Despite the horror of the circumstances surrounding their deaths, he couldn't just put them in the ground with no final meeting. That had already happened once in his life – he had never seen his birthparents again after that awful day. He wasn't even sure where the ashes of the Choudrays had been scattered, if they had been scattered at all. He had been too young then, and would probably never know. But Kutner was an adult now, facing a loss of the same magnitude, only now, it was his burden to take care of his parents' bodies, not the state's. He couldn't just… leave them. And with the possibility of his impending removal from the hospital, he might not get the chance. He had to put his own brokenness aside for the moment. He had to see Mom and Dad one final time.

"Could we go down there?" he asked Taub quietly. "Before I lose my nerve…"

After a quick phone call down to the morgue (a hurried effort to make sure the bodies were presentable), Taub eased Kutner into a wheelchair and, with an armed guard following behind them, they once again solemnly processed to the elevator. As they emerged at the basement level, Kutner could feel his entire body break out into a cold sweat. _I don't know if I can do this… I don't know if I __**want**__ to do this. _He stopped Taub just outside of the morgue. "Hang on a sec." His head was swirling and he was beginning to hear that odd buzz that presents itself right before one passes out. He leaned gingerly forward, putting his head between his knees and trying to breathe as evenly as possible.

"Kutner, you alright?" he heard Taub's worried voice above him, and felt the surgeon's small hand on his back. He only nodded, as he waited for the dizzying chill to subside. Then he heard, "I don't think this was a good idea. Maybe this isn't the right time; I think we should go back upstairs."

"No Taub," Kutner said. His voice wobbled a bit, so he managed to pull himself into an upright position, and spoke with a little more strength. "No. We're already here. I can't leave now, or I'll never be able to come back down here." He exhaled quickly and continued. "OK. We can go in." The strength he heard in his voice nearly made him burst into inappropriate laughter, considering that his insides were quivering like Jello. _What a coward I am…_

The room was cold to him. Perhaps it was merely because he was in a hospital gown (the surface of the sun would be chilly in a hospital gown), but the more likely cause was the presence of the two bodies which had been lying in refrigeration for three days. It was just like before: the orderlies had laid out the bodies side by side, and respectfully covered them with sheets. Once again he was faced with having to confront death, only this time he already knew there was no hope, no chance that perhaps a mistake had been made and the unfortunate folks on the metal tables were not in fact the Kutners. There would be nothing of the sort to cling onto this time. Those corpses were his parents, and there was no escape from it, and there never would be.

Kutner pulled himself up out of the wheelchair before Taub could either prevent him or assist him. He took several tentative steps forward, and reached out for the sheet covering the larger body. Richard Kutner. Despite the refrigeration, the body had changed somewhat, as is common post mortem. Kutner only uncovered the face, knowing the autopsy incisions were further down. He couldn't see that at all. As difficult as it was to see his dad's lifeless face, if he saw those incisions which had allowed medical examiners to sift through his body like so much meat, he felt he might die right then and there.

"Dad," he whispered. "I'm sorry I didn't come back sooner… I never thought I would have to see you like this." The tears began to flow. "I wanted to make you proud of me. Did you know how much I loved you? I tried to say it a lot, but I could have said it more… You fought him, didn't you? I couldn't, I didn't get the chance. But they said you looked like you had fought…" he faltered. His voice was having trouble working around the words he wanted to say, so he decided to move on to his mother.

Julia Kutner was now devoid of all her beauty – without her vivacity and tenderness animating her features, she looked old. Like an old, dead woman. "Mom." Kutner whispered. "Mom…." He hesitantly ran his fingers through her dark hair, trying just to feel the soft ends and not the icy cold scalp. "Mom, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't come to dinner on Sunday. I should have come." He remembered the phone conversation.

"_Are you sure you can't get away tonight, honey? We haven't seen you in weeks."_

"_Sorry Mom, I know I said I'd be there, but it's kind of nuts here. This case is really complicated. This guy can't move or communicate at all, and he's getting worse. We're trying a new treatment, but if it doesn't work then we're back to square one."_

"_Poor fellow. Well, at least he has the smartest doctor in the world helping him."_

"_Actually, House is as confused as we are."_

"_I was talking about you, hon." She laughs at his modesty. "Well, I know how hard you work. We were looking forward to seeing you tonight, but we can do it next weekend. Remember, Dad and I are leaving for Vermont tomorrow evening."_

"_I promise. Next Sunday. And you won't have to cook - I'll take you out somewhere great. My treat."_

"_Oh, I don't mind cooking, especially if it's for my boys."_

"_No, I insist."_

"_Well, then I guess there's nothing I can do about it." More laughter. "Although if you cancel again, we may just have to come and kidnap you, just to make sure you eat something besides cereal once in a while." _

"_Now, now, sometimes I make sandwiches." He laughs again. "Listen, Mom, I have to run. But I'll talk to you guys before you leave tomorrow?"_

"_OK. Good luck with your patient."_

"_Thanks Mom, we'll need it. Happy Anniversary."_

"_Thank you! Love you, Lawrence."_

"_I love you too, Mom, and love to Dad."_

Thank God he had said that. Thank God his last words were "I love you." At least he didn't have to live with saying something he regretted. If only that were enough. "I'm sorry, Mom. I don't know why this happened. I don't know… it was me he wanted, but I don't know why. I was supposed to be there and since I wasn't he went after you. I don't understand what I did wrong. Mom, I'm so sorry, I'm sorry, Mamma…" The tears were coming hot and fast now. As he looked into her peaceful face, Kutner felt a pain that went so much deeper than bullets. This was somehow so much harder than the Old Grief – perhaps because after that initial shock, he had never seen the bodies of the Choudrays ever again. He had not been given the chance to really say good-bye to them, but in a way, it had almost been better that way. It had meant his loss was confined to that one terrible day. One moment they had been there, the next, they were gone. He had always felt deprived in some way because of that lack of closure with his birthparents, which is why he thought it would help his pain to see the Kutners again. But it only made him hurt worse. Knowing that for whatever reason, these loving people were dead because of him ripped his heart apart from within. Even though he had not been able to save his birthparents, at least he had not been the reason they had died. Kutner wasn't sure how his heart could still be beating when it hurt so bad.

Taub, for his part, had stood quietly just outside the door that was propped open. He had not been comfortable leaving Kutner completely alone, but although the young man had not asked for privacy, Taub felt as though he was intruding on a moment that was so intimate it bordered on the sacred. His own eyes were burning with tears as he watched his friend struggle to caress his dead mother's hair, his own heart breaking as he heard Kutner beg her forgiveness for this terrible tragedy which he still believed was his fault. He saw the weight of Kutner's grief and guilt force him to his knees, laying his head against the cold steel table and sobbing by his mother's inanimate form. He was still murmuring, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Taub started to move forward to go to him, but suddenly felt a hand on his arm, holding him back. Startled, he looked back and saw House, who had joined him without his knowledge. _I swear, that man limps like a ninja, _he marveled.

"House, I need-"

"Let him be." House said it so quietly, not taking his eyes of his young protégé.

"House!" Taub was indignant. How could this heartless jerk allow Kutner to sit there like that, confessing some sin that had never occurred? How could he let Kutner seek absolution that would never come for something he had not been responsible for?

"Let him have his moment with them. Let him say what he needs to say right now."

"It's not his fault! The longer he believes that, the worse off he'll be. He can't keep thinking that; it's simply not true."

"We can tell him it's not his fault until we're blue in the face, Taub. It won't matter. He will have to accept that on his own. Sometimes," and here House's blue eyes seemed to see further than Taub's own at that moment, "sometimes accepting responsibility when something bad happens is the only way you can live with the bad, whether it's really your fault or not. Let him say he's sorry, if that's all he can say."


	25. Chapter 25

**Author's Note:** In honor of Back-To-School (AKA, RIP Summer of 09), here's a double update! I wrote this as one big chapter, but it was a little too big for the average on here, so I split it for your reading comfort. Thanks for the continued reading and reviews!

Chapter Twenty-Five

It was only when Kutner pulled himself up from his knees under his own power, wiping his eyes on his gown, that House gently pushed Taub into the room, finally allowing him to go to the young man. After watching Kutner hesitantly but tenderly place a final kiss on the cold foreheads of his parents, Taub carefully helped him back to the wheelchair. As they began to leave the morgue, Taub noticed that House had disappeared as quietly and suddenly as he had come. Once again, the man proved he was a ninja. He had no idea where his boss would have gone to, but perhaps he hadn't wanted Kutner to know he had been watching his final goodbye. Maybe the raw emotion of it made the old curmudgeon uncomfortable and he didn't want to face his grieving employee just yet. Either way, Taub decided not to mention it.

They returned to Kutner's room in a weighty and somewhat drained silence that Taub was somewhat unsure of how to break. The scene below had been so heavy with emotion, he felt awkward, as though any attempt to speak in its aftermath would seem clownish. He was wondering what was going through Kutner's mind at the moment as he tucked the blankets around him, when he heard a small voice say, "Thank you Taub." He lifted his eyes to meet his friend's. They were dry, but still held so much sorrow. "Thank you for letting me see them again."

"Of course," Taub replied. He lowered his eyes again, for fear his own emotion might trigger a meltdown between them both. "I'm proud of you," he said roughly, with a gentle touch to his friend's battered hand, before straightening up again and returning to his seat. He _was _proud of Kutner – maybe, with the closure of that good-bye, he could finally begin accept that what had happened had not been his fault . Maybe he could begin to heal.

They turned their attention to the movie that was frozen on the screen, silently watching it together.

* * *

_**He felt restless. There were too many police around the hospital now; obviously his appearance the previous day had made someone a little jumpy. Probably that woman he met in the clinic. He had had to widen his orbit, avoiding any place where a security camera could pick up his presence. **__**Makes no difference, **__**he thought,**__** I can wait. The end will be the same; I can wait.**_

_**He had managed to go on a little field trip today that had proved quite interesting. The short little man who had always been Lawrence Kutner's companion had exited the hospital. From within his car, he saw the little guy, whom he had inwardly dubbed 'The Sidekick,' get into his vehicle, and at first had assumed he was going home. But the car had turned in the other direction when exiting the parking lot, not the way it usually went, which was enough to warrant a tailing. He followed at a respectable distance for a while, and felt his eyes narrow as the Sidekick parked at a funeral home and went inside. He circled the block close to fifteen times before his mark reemerged. He continued following him to two more funeral homes. **_

_**His mind spun. Did this mean Kutner was dead? Was the Sidekick making arrangements for his poor little friend – he would probably be in charge of something like that. Or was it merely for the parents? He wasn't certain, but was becoming anxious to know for sure. The possibility thrilled him. If Kutner was dead, either by his wounds or by his own hand from the grief he had experienced, then he didn't have to worry about it anymore. He could move on to his next obsession, whatever that might be. He felt a surge of accomplishment. Well, it might have taken a bit longer than expected, but it seemed that he had succeeded where his bastard of a father had failed. He had even surpassed him, because his father had never aspired to finish what he had started 22 years ago. It just proved what a weakling the man was. **_

_**Growing excited at the prospect of parading his success in front of his old man, he decided perhaps a little souvenir would be a nice touch. A little something to cap off the adventure. He abandoned the doctor he had been following, deciding that the Sidekick was just terribly indecisive about what he wanted for a funeral – **__**probably stingy as well,**__** he thought smugly – and drove back to the apartment building he had watched for weeks. Parking a few blocks away, he unobtrusively made his way to the alley, climbing up the same fire escape he had scaled on Monday morning. **_

_**The fire escape door was still easy to open from where he had broken the latch. He entered the darkened apartment – still reeking of the metallic smell of spilled blood, despite the crime scene cleaner's visit. The floor was permanently stained, he knew, and it brought him a certain level of satisfaction that he had in essence marked his territory. Pushing the door closed, he touched things freely in the apartment now; the investigators had already been here looking for fingerprints and the like, but he had not touched anything in the dwelling aside from the door handle, which he had carefully wiped clean. He considered taking a Star Wars prop that seemed to have a special place of honor on Lawrence's shelf, but the pictures on the wall caught his eye. A juxtaposition of two families: an Indian one, smiling parents and a little grinning boy; a proud older Caucasian couple with their adult son at his college graduation. No, this was the perfect memento! Not only a visual summary of Lawrence Kutner's life, but also a commemoration of what the Donnes had accomplished during the course of that life. The senior Donne had shattered the family on the left, and he, the junior, had obliterated the family on the right. He removed the frame and tucked the photos into his jacket. As he turned to go, he heard the locked door being jimmied. What was that? Was someone planning on looting the dead man's apartment? Having left his weapon in his car, he quickly moved to the bedroom and slid beneath the bed. **_

_**Taking great care to remain hidden and utterly silent, he kept his eyes trained on the entrance to the room. To his surprise, a man entered, turning on the light switch on the wall. Who was this, and why was he here? From his vantage point he was only able to see the man's feet, encased in polished brown loafers, and he could tell that the stranger was carrying a duffel bag. He started rummaging through drawers, shoving a few things into the bag. He went to the closet, grabbing some other random items. The stranger dropped out of sight as he ducked briefly into the bathroom, though he returned fairly quickly. Then the man stood for a moment in the middle of the bedroom and seemed to be looking around. It was like he was hesitating by the large brownish stain that marred the floor. Then, sighing, he flicked off the light and left the room. **_

_**He listened carefully for the door to close. He stayed put for a little longer just in case the man returned. When it became apparent that he was safe for the moment, he rolled out from under the bed and hurried to the fire escape. He didn't stop to dwell on what had happened until he made it back to his car. Once ensconced in his vehicle, he was finally able to breathe. Well, that was strange. What was that person doing there? What had he been looking for? The hurried and the haphazard way things had been thrown into the bag made him think that perhaps that unknown pair of feet was not supposed to be in that apartment any more than he himself was. He had been unable to see what had been taken, but it didn't seem to be anything of particular value. He had to wonder if the items that belonged to Lawrence Kutner were on their way to their owner. **_

_**His heady mood deflated, he had decided to return to his own home for the time being. He wasn't sure anymore, it didn't seem quite as likely that Kutner was dead. Not when random folks were wandering around his apartment like it was Grand Central Station. He needed to confirm his back-up plan; if it happened that Kutner was alive, he would take special care in remedying that situation. He was conscious of the pictures burning within his jacket pocket. Yes, they would be a perfect souvenir, but also a talisman, to ensure his success. **_

* * *

As the night rushed in, Taub felt as though his exhaustion had snuck up behind him and dropped a piano on him. The small amount of sleep he had gotten the night before, as well as the high importance he placed in the task Kutner had bestowed upon him, managed to give him the semblance of energy as he had gone throughout his day, but now, sitting in the same room he had spent the better part of the week in, his tiredness was overwhelming. Kutner wasn't faring much better – then again, he was intent on denying himself much-needed but unwanted sleep, while Taub really wanted the sleep but was determined to show solidarity.

Hadley had been right about the scratching thing. As the movie ended and a new one was started, Taub had to stay vigilant. Kutner would be blearily watching the screen, seemingly absorbed in the story, and his left hand would begin to drift over to his right, almost fluidly, like it was part of a dance. If Taub wasn't quick enough, Kutner's fingernails would start digging into his skin. The first time it happened, he managed to mangle and all but shred the band-aids covering the original scratches before Taub noticed. Even when Taub decided to just hang on to Kutner's hand, he still felt it pull every so often. Either Kutner truly wasn't conscious of his actions, or there really was some desperate, insidious itch that needed scratching.

_I hope he drifts off soon. He'll have to sleep at some point – his body can't simply go on without rest. He's feeling it, too. _Taub was thinking so intently that his head had begun to nod, so when the door to the room slid sharply open, he snapped to attention so suddenly his neck spasmed. He hissed at the shooting pain and let go of Kutner's hand to bring his own to his neck. House, entering, said dryly, "Impersonating a Pez dispenser there, Taub?"

Taub merely glared at the stupid comment. He noticed Kutner sitting up as quickly as he could with his exhausted, wounded body. He looked so anxious. _God, what did House do to him while I was gone? I know he bullied Kutner into eating, but did he have to completely scare him to death to do it? Look how tense he just became when House came in here…_

"Got your evening pill," House said to Kutner. "And a little more food if you want it. And just so we're clear, you _do_ want it," he added pointedly. He set his bag down went to the other side of the bed. He placed the just-microwaved soup container on Kutner's tray table, then popped out a buspirone tablet and set it next to it. "What do you say, another seventeen?" House suggested. Taub wasn't entirely sure what 'seventeen' was a reference to, but Kutner shrugged and picked up his spoon.

Taub was a bit flummoxed. _Is that it? That's all he did, and there was no arguing, no resistance? Either Kutner is REALLY scared of an NG tube, or House did something else to him – some other strong-arm tactic to get want he wants out of him. Or maybe Kutner just doesn't want to fight it anymore. _"Um, House…" he began.

"Are you still here?" House asked, turning his attention on his other little troublemaking fellow. "I thought you would have gone home by now. We agreed – you need to trade off so that you don't wind up crashing."

"I went home earlier today," Taub said defensively.

"No, you didn't." Both men turned to Kutner, who had muttered in mid-bite. He saw their looks and merely said tiredly, "Or if you did, you didn't stay long. You're still wearing the same clothes you had on this morning. You shed the tie, changed your shirt which was probably in your locker, but it's the same suit you've been wearing since yesterday."

_That's my boy, _House thought, grinning smugly at a chastised Taub. _I thought so too, but it's much more satisfying coming from him. _

"You noticed that?" Taub said sheepishly. He had hoped Kutner would be too tired to observe such a detail. He thought he had gotten away with it.

"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, especially after you went to all that trouble helping me with Mom and Dad today. But yeah, I noticed." Kutner shrugged. He looked a little sad. "Did you at least see Rachel?"

Taub shook his head. "No. I knew she would have already left for work by the time I left here. I… I was thinking more about what you asked me to do. I was focusing on that." He felt a little embarrassed, and also mortified that Kutner seemed so disappointed in his failure to take care of his own personal needs.

"OK, now that that's out in the open…" House interrupted abruptly. "So, you'll go home and spend the night, give your wife a little lovin', and come back tomorrow. There we go – everybody happy! Tootles."

"Now wait just a second, House…" Taub began.

"No waiting. Scram. You're dead on your feet. Kutner wants you to go home, right, Kutner?" House looked pointedly at the patient, who was watching the exchange with somewhat widened, but still weary eyes. "You aren't any good to anyone when you're this exhausted. Go home, get some sleep, and come back when you wake up. It's that simple."

Taub looked at Kutner for some backup. "Kutner? Do you want me to leave?" Even as he spoke the words, he felt badly posing the question to the young man, dragging him into his altercations with House.

And Kutner, for his part, looked regretful that he had been brought into the argument, because now he had to be truthful about his opinion. "I… I won't tell you what to do. But I want you to take care of yourself. And I may have asked you to help me with arrangements this morning, which you did without hesitation – and I am so grateful for your help – but I also asked you to take some time to go see your wife. You didn't finish the mission." Kutner looked at him with worried brown eyes. Taub assumed the concern was for his health and the well-being of his marriage, but there seemed like something deeper was lying just beneath the surface. "Remember what you told me last night? How you two met?" Kutner asked quietly. Taub nodded. "Please… go tell her what you told me. You've hardly been home all week. Life's too uncertain to wait to tell someone… if you miss the chance…" he stopped and bit his lip, looking down at the unfinished container of soup. He hoped Taub would get the message.

_He's right, _Taub thought with shame. _He's scared and he's right. You never know when the last thing you say to someone will be the last thing you say… of course, he knows that. And I do too. I should go home…. but for some reason, I don't want to. _He had planned on staying up with Kutner all night, as needed, but he knew he was fading. He could feel his eyes getting heavy during the movie, his head wanting to nod. After three nights of poor sleep, he knew he wasn't going to be able to manage a fourth. But Taub felt weak and defeated at the realization that, with the limits of his own body reached, he would have to accept help, and apparently from House of all people. He was scared, too, and he wasn't entirely sure why – not with the same crippling fear that Kutner was experiencing, but a gnawing, nagging worry that if he left Kutner, something would… _happen_. It went beyond the threat of Kutner committing suicide; he had managed to almost convince himself that Kutner had moved past that particular point, though it did still worry him. Not mention the new, horrible possibility of that despicable 'C. Donne' person getting in here and harming his friend, despite the heightened security.

"You're scared to leave me alone," Kutner stated, reading his buddy like a book. Taub nodded in admission. "You have my word, Taub – I won't do anything." Kutner didn't have to explain what it was he wouldn't be doing. They all understood what he meant.

"And I'll stay with him to make sure," House quietly volunteered. Taub looked at him warily, causing House to roll his eyes. "And you have _my _word – I won't 'do' anything _to_ him," he said, with his fingers making little air quotes.

Taub frowned. "You'll stay with him the whole time?"

"The whole time. I swear." And House truly meant it, but at a much deeper level than he would reveal to his employee. He wasn't exactly lying, just expanding his meaning to cover more than what Taub was referring to. _I'll stay with him, Taub… until it's time for you to help him again. But right now, it's my job. So go on and let me do that job. _

Grudgingly, Taub acquiesced. He slowly gathered his things, and then gently pulled Kutner into a brotherly embrace. "I'll be back in the morning, real early, ok?" he murmured. Kutner merely nodded, and Taub could feel his arms tighten around his neck for just a moment. He reluctantly released the young man and stood to face House. "You got him to eat. Kudos. Think you can manage to get him to sleep, too?" he grumbled.

"Already, like, eighteen steps ahead of you on that," House replied flippantly. "Go on. It's going to be fine."

As Taub made his way to the door, he turned back one last time. "Good night, Kutner," he said.

"Good night," Kutner said quietly. He looked so lost. Before Taub could decide whether to continue out the door or change his mind and stay, Kutner added, "Thank you. For everything." He bravely tried to give Taub a semblance of a smile. Taub half-heartedly returned it as he exited, though inside his stomach the acid was churning. _Why did that feel like a good-bye? _

As Taub trudged down the hallway, House turned to Kutner, who had long since ceased eating, his eyes downcast. "Good job," he said in a soft voice, hoping that the pride in his voice was adequately concealed.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

"We need to be ready to move." He shut off the movie that had been ignored for quite some time and quickly set about removing the IV line from Kutner's arm. He shut off the monitors before they could start beeping and began disentangling his employee from the various lines and wires that were fastened to him.

"I hated doing that," Kutner muttered.

"I know. But you did what needed to be done."

"Don't care if it needed to be done, I still hated it."

There was a sudden knock at the door, which made Kutner jump a bit. House checked the visitor and opened the door to allow Tritter to enter, a wheelchair in tow. "Good evening, Dr. Kutner," he said politely, an inscrutable smile on his face. Kutner thought perhaps he was trying to put him at ease, but it didn't work. Tritter looked to House with a more serious expression. "Ok, let's move. Ambulance is downstairs waiting," he said quickly as House eased Kutner up from his bed.

"Ambulance?" Kutner questioned, sitting down into the chair carefully.

"The ambulance will drive to the outskirts of town – we can get through the worst of the evening traffic that way. We reach an out-of-the-way location, and then we transfer you to a different vehicle which will drive you to the safehouse. Just an extra precaution."

The team of three headed out into the hallway, and Kutner noticed there was no longer a guard positioned outside of his room. When had he left? There were way too many details that were involved in this, he realized, and even though he was technically the reason for the operation, he was only a small part of it.

They went to the freight elevator, rather than the main elevators in the lobby, as those were far more trafficked even at such a late hour. As the elevator doors closed and they headed to the ground floor, House surreptitiously handed Kutner two pills. "What's this?" he asked. He truly couldn't tell what these were, but they didn't resemble House's Vicodin or his own buspirone (which he realized he had left in the room). His boss was so unpredictable; he had no idea what these pills could be for. Or maybe he did know, but was just too nervous and exhausted to puzzle it out for himself.

"Just something to help with the pain – I don't know how long the drive will end up being."

Kutner took the pills and studied them carefully, trying unsuccessfully to place them. He hesitated to take them, until he heard House mutter, "This will be a very long, excruciating night for you if you don't trust me." Kutner gazed at House – the blue eyes met his, and Kutner knew that whatever crap the doctor had pulled on him in the past, this time he was acting out of concern for him. It was an odd feeling. But he knew, even if House was not exactly his buddy, he also was not his enemy. Kutner popped the pills into his mouth and dry-swallowed them, in true Houseian fashion. As the tablets bumpily travelled down his esophagus, the doors opened, and they were at the back of the emergency room.

Cameron was still on duty, having just received several victims of a three-car pile-up. As she scurried from one gurney to the next, she thought she saw the back of Dr. House moving through the ER in the periphery of her vision, only noticing because of the irregularity of his gait. There were dozens of medical personnel swarming around, and she had to turn back to the patient in front of her. She would later wonder if that was Tritter walking in-step beside House (which she would quickly dismiss as being extremely unlikely unless hell had frozen over), and who was in the wheelchair she thought could barely see past House's figure. But with her more pressing duties literally screaming for her attention, the sight quickly flew from her mind.

House and Tritter both aided Kutner in climbing into the back of the ambulance which was waiting in front of the hospital. Kutner winced in pain as he settled himself into the truck. House jumped in beside himwith surprising agility, and Tritter quickly slammed the doors. Kutner stared at House in surprise. "W-what are you doing, House?"

"You come with a lot of handling instructions; I just want to make sure the people protecting you understand what you need when you need it," House said simply. Kutner decided to accept that; he _was_ still recovering from surgery, and besides, something about the older man's presence comforted him, made him feel a little less like he was in a spy movie. He could deal with it for a little longer. Tritter climbed into the passenger seat up in the front of the vehicle, and the driver, whom Kutner suspected was not an EMT but a cop as well, pulled away from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

"Taub's going to be really mad," he said quietly, feeling the ambulance pick up speed as it eased into traffic. He tried to picture his friend's reaction when he discovered they had flown the coop without his knowledge. He envisioned betrayal and anger, and it pained him deeply to know what Taub would experience when he arrived at the hospital the next morning. He only hoped Taub would forgive him for running off without a word of warning.

Though House didn't particularly care whether the Mini Mother Hen was angry or not, he felt compelled to respond. "Maybe he will be at first, a little bit, but he'll understand eventually."

Kutner bit his lip, his brown eyes looking far off. He lost focus for a moment before finding his thoughts again. "I… I just don't want him to hate me," he whispered. House didn't respond right away to that remark, for it seemed too familiar to him. Where had he heard that before? It jarred him so deeply, he was almost certain that _he_ had said it somewhere… to someone who hadn't exactly reassured him. But it was too hazy a memory, too unlikely. "He won't hate you," House finally muttered. "Not for this. _Me_, on the other hand… No, Kutner. He won't ever hate you." _Because you're a decent person and would never hurt him beyond repair. And if you did, it would be unintentional and your remorse would be evident. You've never just pushed and pushed your friendship to the brink of destruction time and time again… You haven't killed the woman he loves. _House thought all of these things, remembering every stinging word Wilson had said to him after Amber died, but didn't verbalize his musings. Kutner wouldn't know what the hell he was talking about, and anyway… all that was behind him. Wilson was back on his side, and everything was normal again, right? No reason to hash out all of those nonexistent, irrelevant issues in front of a kid who didn't look like he was totally coherent, or least wouldn't be in the next ten minutes or so. _Not to mention it's none of his business. _They grew silent, each thinking about his respective friend, and about the various ramifications of this clandestine escape.

* * *

Taub entered his home, which was dark and quiet. Locking the door securely behind him and setting the alarm, which often remained unarmed except when he and his wife were out of town, he wearily climbed the stairs to his bedroom.

Rachel was sitting up in bed, reading a book. When she saw her husband, she gasped and leapt up, running to his arms, overjoyed to see him at home and looking like he was going to stay. They held each other tightly – Taub awakening to the curves of her body and the scent of her skin, and Rachel gently kissing his stubbled cheeks with relief, all but holding him up in his tiredness. They didn't say a word, and Taub wasn't quite sure how it happened, but suddenly the kisses grew frantic and the sheets grew mussed, and before he knew it they were entwined together, too long apart and strained. Had it really only been four days since he had slept in his own bed? Only after their lovemaking was finished did Taub's fatigue return. He groggily spoke of how he had told Kutner of their first meeting, how glad he had been to relate the story. As he whispered snippets and fragments of the vigils with Kutner, Rachel softly raked her fingers up and down his bare arms, first giving him goosebumps at the lightness of the touch, but then lulling him into a deeper state of relaxation. His last coherent thought was a silent prayer. _Kutner was right. I needed to come home, needed to see her so much… God, please let my friend's night be easy, and give him rest…. _Despite the fears that had plagued him earlier, he slept hard and soundly, his wife by his side, a small smile on his lips.

* * *

As the ambulance drove forward into the night, Kutner felt his body relax a bit, then more than a bit. Was it warm in the vehicle, or was he imagining it? His eyelids grew heavy, as though weights had been attached to his lashes. He struggled to keep them open, but with little success. He couldn't allow himself to fall asleep, not with those nightmares lurking in the shadows of his mind. His hand reached out for the other, his nails anticipating contact with his skin, but House stopped him. "Leggo…" Kutner murmured blearily, confused as to why his words seemed slurred. House did not release his hand, nor did he look at Kutner. Everything looked blurry. "Hoowwwse, whuh d'I fill suh wir'? Fill so tard…" At least, that was how _'House, why do I feel so weird? I feel so tired" _sounded to his ears. But House either didn't hear him or decided to ignore him. Without the scratching to occupy his mind, without the discomfort to stimulate his brain, he slowly lost himself over to the sleep that had been lurking in the corner all day long and was finally charging at him full-throttle. As his eyelids crashed closed, his last coherent thought was the realization of what must have occurred. _Unbelievable. House actually drugged me…_


	27. Chapter 27

**Author's Note: **Ok, so Taub does some swearing in this chapter, but as I do not swear myself (unless it is REALLY warranted) and I published this on another site with stricter censoring laws, I have asterisked some of the letters. Sorry, that's just me being prudish; I really don't like that word as a personal quirk, even though the story kind of calls for strong language at this point. Sorry!

Chapter Twenty-seven

Taub parked his car in the PPTH lot, and got out. He was unable to disguise the slight spring in his step, and he felt certain that when House saw the glint in his eye he would announce to anyone within hearing distance that 'The Mini Stud had gotten some.' _Which I did,_ he thought, grinning to himself. He had slept hard, like a rock. When he awoke, it had been naturally and easily, not jerking awake because of some disturbance or perceived threat. And even though it had been a bit early, he felt remarkably rested. He had been able to take a long, hot shower, and enjoy a ridiculously large breakfast with Rachel, something that had not happened in quite awhile, even before Kutner had been injured. He felt positively decadent. And before he had time to feel guilty about his leisurely morning, Rachel handed him some extra muffins in a paper sack. "For Kutner," she said, smiling somewhat shyly, like a coy bride. If he hadn't been on his way out the door, he would have taken her right there on the kitchen floor. But there would be plenty of time for that later. Somehow, as Taub approached the building, chipper, well-rested and armed with those muffins for his ailing friend, the world looked a little less atrocious. Somehow, he felt like things were going to be okay.

The feeling didn't last as long as he would have hoped.

"Dr. Taub," Cuddy called to him as he entered the lobby. "Would you please step into my office?" Taub really wanted to get upstairs and see Kutner first, find out if he had slept. But Cuddy's face looked so strained, he thought he'd better go ahead and see what was up. His good mood began to fizzle as he walked towards her.

He followed her into her office, and was surprised and a bit uneasy to see Foreman and Hadley seated together on the sofa. They looked upset. Well, Hadley looked upset, with two little red spots at her cheeks; Foreman just had his usual look, that expression which was interchangeable from stoic to pissed off to pleased on a usual day, but there was definite tension exuding from his body. In fact, the tension in the entire room felt like it would crush him.

Foreman and Hadley both looked worriedly at him. His stomach, still full from the breakfast _largesse _he had enjoyed a little while ago, suddenly didn't feel very stable. "Something's wrong," he stated, looking at the grim faces in the room. _Tritter isn't here, or any other cop, so it wouldn't be about a development with Donne… so what is going on here? _He could feel his skin prickle with fear – he hadn't felt this tense since Monday when he had entered Kutner's apartment and seen those keys lying on the table, just before his fears became reality and the world went mad. Why was no one able to look him in the eye? _Something happened to Kutner, they're afraid to tell me…_

"Kutner didn't… oh God, he didn't do something to himself…?" He could barely get the words out, and he felt a cold sweat begin to soak through his shirt as he mentally flipped through the potential ways his friend could have harmed himself. _Kutner, you promised… God please don't let that be it…_

"No, Taub, no," Cuddy was quick to reassure him, and while he at least sighed with relief that Kutner hadn't done the unthinkable, he didn't feel any less worried. "Kutner is alive and well, at least as well as he can be at this point. But…" she hesitated. "He's gone."

"G-gone?" Taub stuttered. "W-what do you mean, he's gone?!" _She just said he was alive, so she can't mean "gone" like "passed away," but how could he be "gone" like "not here?"_

"He's no longer in the hospital," Hadley spoke up, her voice sounding thick. She pressed her mouth into a hard line to keep her lip from trembling. "He wasn't in his room this morning; his release papers were at the nurses' station, all in order." She remembered how it felt when she entered that empty room earlier, ready to relieve Taub (whom she had assumed had stayed the night with Kutner). Her heart had nearly stopped when her mind dashed through all the awful possibilities of reasons for that emptiness.

"How could he not be here?" Taub yelped. "Did you check the whole hospital?" _Maybe he went to the morgue again for some reason, or maybe… maybe… I don't know – but he can't be gone!_

Cuddy sighed. "Taub, we know he's definitely not here. I got the official word; Detective Tritter has taken Kutner to a safehouse. He will stay there under police protection until they catch Donne."

Taub was dumbfounded. How could this have happened so fast? He vaguely remembered Tritter mentioning a safehouse in their meeting on Wednesday night, but this was too fast! "But, but he… he's not well enough to go anywhere yet… Where did they take him? I had no idea this was going to happen!"

"None of us did, Taub," Foreman murmured. "We don't know where they took him."

"Tritter apparently moved Kutner last night, in secret. I wasn't informed until this morning. I think they had to be discreet, as a precaution. The fewer people who knew, the safer it would be to make the move."

"I don't understand this – he's coming off major surgery and an infection, and he's still technically under suicide watch. He's _not _okay. He couldn't have signed himself out. Another doctor would have had to…" Something clicked in the back of Taub's mind. He was suddenly acutely aware that there was someone missing from this little conference. A very key someone. His confusion and dismay slowly lost themselves over to the anger he felt welling up within him. "**Where's House?**" he growled through gritted teeth. _Because I need to punch him in the nose repeatedly._

After a very deep pause, Cuddy responded. "Dr. House isn't here either."

"And he wasn't at home," Foreman stated. He knew; he had gone to the Baker Street apartment to look, as Hadley and Cuddy and he had volleyed phone calls back and forth. House's apartment had been dark and locked. He had been able to extrapolate from there.

"Well, where did _he_ go?" Taub asked, daggers in his eyes. "When I left last night, he said he was going to stay with Kutner…" he trailed off, realizing that perhaps there had been a double meaning to his so-called 'promise.' _That two-faced, lying bastard…_

No one answered him, which all but confirmed his suspicions. "I see. So House discharged a critically injured, suicidal patient, – _my_ best friend – without consulting any of us, allowed him to be taken God-knows-where in his condition, and decided to go along for the ride?" he spat, the volume of his voice growing with every breath he took. "That's what happened, right??"

"It does look like House went with him…" Cuddy finally admitted. Foreman and Hadley both looked at Taub like they were waiting for him to explode, or crumble, or something. The anger and hurt were palpable in his eyes.

As Cuddy tried to reason that it must have become necessary to move Kutner quickly, and House was too concerned about his condition to let him go alone and had probably gone to provide medical care, Taub felt his heart hammering in his chest. _Kutner's gone. House took him out of here, I didn't get to say goodbye, Kutner didn't tell me, they both just left. They sent me away so they could leave without me knowing. He said he would stay with Kutner… Oh, God, that son of a bitch! No. No, this was all House's doing. Kutner would have told me if he had known this was going to happen. Unless House threatened him if he did… why does House get to go? How could Tritter have allowed that? No…. Kutner couldn't have wanted House. He wouldn't have asked House to go with him – I'm the one he can count on; I'm the one he needs! House will hurt him… House will damage him even more than he already is!_

He was fed up. He couldn't deal with this right now. Looking at his coworkers in the room but hardly seeing any of them, he quietly and flatly said the only word that could fit the situation and succinctly express how he was feeling: "_F**k_." Then he turned and quickly left the office. He needed air before he punched someone. No one made any move to follow him, and no one moved to pick up the bag of muffins that he had dropped on the floor as he exited.

He raced upstairs, not bothering to wait for the elevators. He had to see for himself. He reached the ICU, running down the corridor to the room where he had left Kutner last night. There was no guard outside the door. Even though he knew the room would be empty, he went inside anyway.

The nurses had not cleaned the room yet – probably forgotten in their panic about finding a patient gone. The bed was unmade, the sheets cast aside, though the blanket was missing. _Kutner was cold, so he took it with him. _The monitors were disconnected, the IV line hung vacantly, and there remained on the abandoned tray table a container of cold soup, a spoon, and a tiny white buspirone tablet. _Kutner didn't take his pill, _Taub thought matter-of-factly, as if he had simply discovered that a child hadn't attended to his chores. There was nothing actually amiss in the room, nothing to indicate something sinister had occurred, aside from the fact that the patient who was supposed to be occupying the bed was nowhere to be found. _For all I know,_ he thought, getting wound up again, _Kutner might not even be in the state anymore. Not the state, not the country, not the planet_… Kutner , his surrogate brother, was lost to him, for no telling how long. "F**k!" he said again, louder than he had before. There was a satisfying coarseness to the word, but it still didn't satiate his anger. He stormed out of the room.

He found himself heading next to House's office. He didn't know why – he knew House wouldn't be there. But he entered the darkened suite of rooms anyway. He was now breathing hard, feeling like a bull about to charge a matador, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he had seen smoke coming out of his nose. He could see the whiteboard, still crowded with House's minutest writing, detailing his opinions about Kutner's attack. _He just had to butt in, _Taub thought. _Of course he's obsessed, and he carried the obsession over into Kutner's actual safety._ He let out a primal cry as he threw the mocking whiteboard to the floor, scattering the multi-colored markers everywhere. _Never mind that __**I **__found Kutner in his apartment, __**I **__saved his life, __**I **__sat with him for days, __**I've **__seen the nightmares, the fear, __**I **__held him as he sobbed and admitted he wanted to die! What has House done, aside from telling him his parents were dead and botching it, causing him to freak out? _His eyes lighted on House's Eames lounge chair. The chair Kutner had used to exact his revenge on House for his cruel, unnecessary pranks… It made no sense. After the way House had treated Kutner, had treated ALL of them, _he _was chosen? _It's not even about Kutner – this is about torturing me, like he's done for months, and now he's using Kutner to do it! That bastard!_

Fuming, Taub overturned the chair into the wall, then did his best to heave the ottoman toward the desk. Papers and books went flying, and there was a satisfying crash. His only regret was that his arms were too small to chuck the furniture any further. No, that wasn't his only regret. He regretted leaving the night before, regretted allowing House to stay with Kutner alone. He regretted that it was the chair that was feeling the brunt of his rage, not his boss. "_F********K!!!" _he bellowed, not caring who heard him.

"Taub," a kind, concerned voice drifted from behind him. He turned and saw Wilson standing in the doorway of the office. Wilson was carefully eyeing the minor destruction Taub had inflicted on the office. But whatever sympathy or consolation or reprimand the young oncologist was about to give was preempted by the anger that was still boiling in Taub's blood. _House may be out of my reach right now, but if need be Wilson could stand in, _he thought meanly, even though he knew he wouldn't really do anything to Wilson. Maybe_._ _Every nose bleeds the same…_

"Did you know?" he demanded. "Did you know that House was taking Kutner out of here?"

Wilson took a deep breath. "I knew that Tritter was planning on getting Kutner to a safehouse at some point, and House did tell me that he was worried about him. He had a lengthy conversation with Tritter after your group meeting Wednesday night, and then he called me up and asked me to take care of some things – get some prescriptions filled for anxiolitcs and pain relievers and the like; go to Kutner's apartment and get some clothes ready for him, that sort of thing. I wasn't entirely sure House was going with him – he really didn't say that in so many words – but I… I suspected he was planning something along those lines," he admitted. "But I didn't know _when_ it was going happen. I did not know it was going to go down last night, nor do I know where they went. I'm sincerely sorry you got blindsided with this," he added, sounding genuinely apologetic.

"House going with Kutner – that idea didn't concern you at all?" Taub seethed. "Kutner is borderline suicidal, he's anxious and depressed, he's grieving, he's in physical pain… and _House_ is going to take care of him?!" He laughed bitterly. "Yeah, as Kutner deals with being orphaned a second time and sits around wondering if a gun-toting psycho is around the corner, House will be there to comfort and console him. He'll just give him a big ole' hug, I'm sure – make it all better! I can't believe you suspected this and didn't try to talk him out of it! Do you have any idea what he'll do to Kutner? That asshole will crush him! He's already been shattered; House will grind him into the floor."

"Now, wait a second, Taub," Wilson said defensively. "I don't think you're giving House enough credit here."

"I'm not giving him any credit!"

"So I see. Because you're angry and maybe a bit hurt that you couldn't go too. But Taub, I promise you that House is as concerned about Kutner as you are. He just has his own way of showing it. He _is_ going to look out for him… of that I am certain."

"Oh, I know he's your friend and you feel like you have to stick up for him and everything. But for God's sake, Wilson, you know what he's like! It was too soon for Kutner to go anywhere, and Tritter, as callous as he seems, wouldn't have even considered moving him if House hadn't given him the go ahead. And if anyone was going to go with him, it should have been me! Everyone knows that."

"Taub, think for a minute. Do you really think they would've moved him so soon if there hadn't been a good reason? Either Kutner learned about the threat to the team and insisted on going right away – to ensure thesafety of those he loves – or that threat became greater or more immediate. This wasn't a lunch date they were planning – it wasn't about what day everyone's schedules would work with." Wilson put his hands on his hips. "As for you going along, you know Kutner wouldn't have allowed that. Not only would he not have been willing to put you at risk, there's no way he would've let you just abandon your wife with no warning."

"Abandon my wife?" Taub looked at him incredulously. _Why would anyone assume I would do such a thing?!_

"Yeah, apparently you don't get the chance to call your spouse when you follow someone into protective custody. So you just disappear one night, and your wife has no frigging clue what happened to you, and you think that will help your marriage at all? Hell, that's one of the reasons House had for going with Kutner – he doesn't have any family obligations to worry about. So, in a weird way, he was looking out for you as well." Actually that was a bit of a stretch, even though Wilson did believe that House was looking out for Taub, in some weird purely Houseish fashion, but he doubted Taub would see it the same way.

Sure enough, Taub went wide-eyed. "You expect me to believe his motives were that altruistic? This is House we're talking about! He might have a soft spot for Kutner, maybe I can grant you that, since he treats him slightly better than crap, unlike the rest of us. But he certainly wasn't considering _me_ in any of this, or anyone else for that matter. So don't try to placate me with that theory!" He shook his head stubbornly. "No. I should have gone. Not him. It's not right."

"You're not mad because Kutner left without telling you – this anger has nothing to do with the fact that he went into hiding. Deep down, you know his safety depended on it."

Taub was silenced for a moment. Then he exhaled slowly, leaning against the fallen lounge chair, utterly drained. "You're right. I'm not mad about Kutner leaving, though I wish I had known what was going on. I get that he felt he couldn't tell me, that he was trying to protect me. He must have been so scared… that's why he looked so tense last night. That's why when he said good-night it felt like good-bye." He swallowed the lump that developed in his throat. Then he stood up straight again and faced Wilson squarely. "I AM mad about House manipulating himself into the whole scheme. He had no right and I can't believe Kutner would have allowed him to go along. He's worried about _all _of us… House included," he admitted grudgingly. _Because Kutner actually likes him. Which makes sense since House hasn't used him as his personal punching bag – unfortunately, that's my job description. _

"Well, for what it's worth, Kutner didn't have a say in the matter," Wilson said. "Given one of the prescriptions I filled yesterday, I doubt if he was even conscious when he left the building. Kutner wouldn't have known House was coming along until long after it was too late to do anything about it."

"You think House drugged him?" Taub exclaimed, shocked. It took him a moment to guiltily remember he himself had tried to do the same thing the day before in an effort to get Kutner to sleep.

At Taub's appalled look, Wilson shrugged, "Well, he needed rest, right? Anyway, if he had been given a choice, frankly, I think he would have chosen to go alone, for the sake of the people he cares about. If someone _had_ to go with him, I'm sure you are the person he would've wanted. But I believe House is the one he needs."

"How on earth do you figure that? What can House give him that he could need – sarcasm? Bullying? Give him that extra little push over the edge?" Taub felt himself grow frustrated again. _Just when he's starting to make a little sense, he has to go and say something bizarre like that. Kutner needs House like a kick in the gut!_

"House can understand him."

"What!?" Taub had never heard anything so ridiculous.

"They think the same way. House will be able to anticipate Kutner's thoughts and behaviors, and he will be able to help him. To protect him, not just from this wack-job who's after him, but from himself, too." The plastic surgeon rolled his eyes, unconvinced. Wilson struggled to make Taub understand. "Who was it that got him to eat?" he asked quietly.

Taub frowned. He didn't like being reminded of that. As grateful as he was that Kutner had broken his fast, deep down he had hated that House had been the one to get him to do so. House had somehow known what buttons to push, had known what trick to pull to succeed, and had been ready to follow through with his threats if needed. But then, House had also known he wouldn't need to follow through. He had apparently planned to drug Kutner to get him to sleep; Taub had attempted to sedate him as well, but had failed because Kutner had pleaded with him, terrified of nightmares. Eventually, if events hadn't taken this unexpected turn, that failure to follow through would have been to Kutner's detriment. He had been too soft-hearted, and fear had been ruling him as much as it ruled his young friend.

"They're so much alike, House and Kutner…" Wilson continued. But here Taub had to jump in again.

"You know, everyone says that, and I just don't see it!" Taub argued in frustration. He had heard several random people make the same comparison and it was usually amusing, even if he didn't necessarily agree. But at this moment, it irked him to no end. "How could anyone think that they're similar? OK, ok, I guess you can compare how Kutner electrocuted himself with the defibrillators to the time House thought it would be cute to jam a knife into a wall socket – they've both nearly fried themselves into oblivion. That, I'll give you. But… seriously? That doesn't make them alike. You'd have more luck effectively comparing a golden retriever to a Maco shark."

Wilson smiled a bit at that, which actually just made Taub madder. "I know that you and House don't exactly get along, and you probably feel like it's an insult to Kutner to make such a comparison. But think about it on a more objective level. I didn't see the resemblance either, at first, until I realized that Kutner's sci-fi obsessions aren't that far removed from House's monster truck fetish. I've heard Kutner go off into complicated metaphors that you need a roadmap to follow, his mind works in an out-of-the-box way… he even dresses like House. And Kutner observes the littlest details and comes up with innovative ideas. You know that's true. I think that's why House likes Kutner – because he recognizes the potential Kutner has, to be the level of doctor that he is. But even more so, because he's a better human being than House knows how to be."

Taub merely snorted. "Well, that's for damn sure."

"Taub… House and Kutner have both experienced pain and loss that damaged them. House essentially lost his leg, and became an addict as a result. The infarction cost him his health, his active lifestyle, his relationship, his control. Kutner saw someone gun down his parents in cold blood as a little child. It's bad enough to experience a loss like that at such an age, but to have seen it happen in front of you…" Wilson shook his head, thinking to himself of that horrible bloodstain that he had seen in Kutner's apartment, the one that would never be cleaned away. "And now it's all happening again. But really, the only thing that separates House and Kutner is how they've faced their challenges. Kutner, in spite of all that happened to him, in spite of the guilt and the doubt he had as a child – he still managed to cling to a shred of the joy life can offer. House can't find it, probably doesn't think he ever will or that he even deserves it, but he's been looking for it."

"Has he?" Taub asked, trying not to feel moved. It went against all of his negative, cyncial opinions to think that House would ever want to change, to try to find his way out of his misery. Though Wilson was certainly right about Kutner's zest for life, even in the face of tragedy. At least, it used to be that way; that joie de vivre was seriously and alarmingly lacking in the wake of this most recent disaster. That was only natural, but there was that fear that it would never return; that Kutner's spirit had received a crippling blow, an infarction of his own, and would never recover from it. _If only he could find that spark again… if only he could believe that good was still possible. Will he ever be able to do that again? _

"I shouldn't be telling you this…" Wilson said hesitatingly. "I hope you will keep this to yourself, and I will return the favor at some point. But remember when House got into that motorcycle accident last week in Middletown?" He waited for Taub to nod in affirmation, then he continued. "I found out that he was seeing a therapist. That's' why he was there to begin with." He pressed on quickly before Taub could interject or question him. "I don't know for how long or what exactly they were talking about, but the point is that House is _trying._ I think he can help Kutner, and maybe in return Kutner can help him, too."

Taub was silent for a long while. He thought hard about all Wilson had said. Finally he looked at the oncologist and said dryly, "Wow, you're _really_ reaching." But he allowed a small smile to cross his face.

Wilson understood, and chuckled. "Well, I tried. My office is next door; I didn't want you breaking the walls down." He sobered a little, but gently asked, "Buy you some coffee?"

Taub felt so drained by his ranting, he thought perhaps he could use a pick-me-up. "I guess. Then I might as well go back home, since I'm obviously not needed here anymore." He looked sadly at the disheveled room. The destruction had provided momentary satisfaction, but now, seeing what he had done in his rage, he just felt numb. It really hadn't helped at all. _Kutner, I hope you're okay. I hope I didn't fail you as badly as I feel like I did. Please stay strong, and come back soon._

Wilson saw the sadness in his eyes, and said in a confidential voice, "By the way, if Kutner is MiniHouse, you know what that makes you?" There was an unreadable smile on his face.

Taub looked confused for a moment, then it dawned on him. "I'm MiniWilson, huh?"

Wilson's little smile spread to a grin. He almost amended the statement with '_Mini-MiniWilson', _but decided to keep that thought to himself for his own amusement. "Yes, sir, welcome to the Club. I'll get you a copy of the bylaws, which details the care and feeding of your very own personal House. Dues are $30 a month, which is what you will spend buying lunch for him on a regular basis..." Wilson chuckled as they walked out of the office together. And he sent out a personal prayer of his own. _House, I get what you did. And I went to bat for you, did damage control. You better behave. Take care of Kutner… and for God's sake, both of you, be safe…. _


	28. Chapter 28

**Author's note: **New chappie for you - this was fun to write. I needed a bit of a break in the angst, since a member of my family has been dealing with a health scare - so while there is some angst of course, House and Kutner are at their random best. I hope I kept them in character. I always thought Kutner enjoyed House's antics more than most ("Oh Green P! I get it - nice!") but I imagine even he would get grumpy if he wasn't in the right mood for Zany!House. And vice versa of course.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The first thing Kutner was aware of was feeling warm, though not unpleasantly so. In fact, he felt quite comfy, despite a bit of a twinge that was nibbling at his side. There was a steady, distant rumbling noise that was very soothing – was it thunder? _That'd be nice_, Kutner thought vaguely. He liked thunderstorms; they were soothing, plus he thought lightning was pretty awesome. He drifted about in a haze for a moment, before the twingey feeling started to spread upward and nibble at his shoulder, too. It wasn't excruciating, but it was starting to make him a little uncomfortable. He began thinking, _My eyes are closed. Have I been asleep? _He struggled to open them in order to check the matter, and succeeded in doing so about two hours later (or so it seemed to him). He had a little trouble focusing at first, as his eyes kept wanting to drift closed again. It probably would have been easier to just leave them closed. His whole head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and his eyesight felt wonky. He was aware of lying on a sofa, his head on a downy throw pillow, with two blankets wrapped around him, one thin one and then a thicker quilt over that. He had been tucked in like a little kid. There seemed to be sunlight streaming into the room, but the rumbling continued. Perhaps the storm was coming? Or going?

Memory flashed in his mind… He had been taken from the hospital, put into an ambulance, and then… well, he wasn't entirely sure what events happened after that, but somehow he had wound up here. Why was it so fuzzy? Then he remembered the pills House had given him. _They knocked me out, _he realized. He had no memory of sleeping, but even more importantly, no memory of dreaming. "Oh my God, I actually slept," he murmured out loud, half in horror and half in relief, and he was baffled by how thick his tongue felt.

"You're welcome," a familiar voice drifted to him.

_WHATTHEHELL? _Kutner sat up quickly, but had to brace himself to keep from falling onto the floor as the contents of his skull shifted a little too quickly. The movement caused his twinge to deepen to a jab, and he gave an involuntary groan. As his dizziness subsided, he saw his boss seated on an armchair just behind him, looking relaxed, like he was on vacation. He wore an amused expression at Kutner's befuddlement.

"House?" he said, still fuzzy-tongued. _I feel so weird, this has to be a hallucination… _"Whuh… wait… What are you-?" He stammered the beginnings of several thoughts, none of which he could fully finish because his head felt so woozy. _Come on, Lawrence, focus! _"House, what's going on? I thought I was going to a… a… you know…" he fumbled for the word. _A place where you take people… to keep them safe. Stupid drugs- _"Safehouse!" he finished, relieved to have finally completed his sentence with a direct object.

"Yeah. This is it," House answered cheerily, indicating the room they were in. Kutner glanced uncertainly around, trying to take in his surroundings. A cozy little room, with a stone fireplace, two bookshelves half-full of old paperbacks on either side of it. Wooden floor with a rattan rug in the center. The sofa he was lying on matched the armchair House was sitting in, both with old, worn upholstery. There was also a rocking chair and a prehistoric TV, complete with rabbit ears and dials. It was a fairly simple, if somewhat shabby and out-dated, little living room, but Kutner's mind was currently like a sieve. He couldn't process or retain the details quite yet. He rubbed at his eyes to get rid of what felt like a hazy film over his corneas. When he reopened them, blinking rapidly, House was holding a water bottle out to him. "Little dehydrated, huh?"

Kutner was loathe to admit it, but he was abominably thirsty. He took the water grudgingly and had a sip. Before he could swallow, House went on. "Sorry for putting you on the couch, but that staircase is really narrow, and you weren't exactly helping us carry you." He shrugged, as if dragging around a knocked-out Kutner was just a typical weeknight activity.

"Gee, sorry about the inconvenience!" Kutner said sarcastically, glaring at House. The water helped his thirst, but his brain was still fuzzy like a ball of lint. He wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he knew that House was NOT supposed to be with him. That wasn't part of the plan. At least, not his plan. Then again, his plan had consisted of just getting away from the hospital. He hadn't thought about much beyond that simple goal. "What are you doing here?"

"Felt like a vacation was in order," House said flippantly. "I mean, I have just been _buried _in paperwork this week."

"House, you shouldn't have done this! I should have gone alone – why the heck did you-? I can't believe… Oh man…" he sputtered as the reality of the situation grew clearer and clearer.

"I didn't hear any complaints when I got into the car with you last night."

"That's because you drugged me, you creep!" Kutner exclaimed. He at least knew that much. "You gave me those little pills in the elevator and said they would help with the pain. It wasn't about managing my pain at all! You just wanted to knock me out so I wouldn't make a fuss. What, clobbering me on the head with a tire iron too lowbrow for you?"

"A mind is a terrible thing to waste by accidentally splattering it on the floor," House deadpanned.

"So you slipped me roofies instead," Kutner said flatly, clearly unamused.

"Gross, dude," House groaned, wincing. "They weren't roofies, and I didn't _slip _you anything; I told you those pills were for pain, and you took them of your own free will. No stealth involved. I made a suggestion, and you made the choice to take my advice."

"You're oversimplifying to get around the fact that you kidnapped me."

"Technically, the police kidnapped you, which isn't a crime in this situation since you were the one who insisted on going. Just answer me this: were you in pain last night?"

"I don't remember - I was unconscious!" Kutner said dryly.

"So you _weren't_ in pain? Because if you had been, you'd remember something like that, right?"

"Well, I guess… But that's hardly the point-" Kutner sputtered. Oh, this was not going well at all. He could barely form a coherent thought, and then when he did, managing to come up with withering and bitingly clever reasoning to challenge his boss, his articulation turned it all to marshmallow fluff and he wound up sounding like a fourth grader whose best comeback was _"I know you are but what am I."_

"There you have it. I told you the truth. Those pills helped you, and the fact that you actually slept for the first time in days was just a bonus. New topic," House smirked, believing he had effectively closed the matter.

"_Nooo_, how about 'original topic.' Why are you here?" Kutner demanded again.

"I told you-" House began, wondering why he had to repeat his answer. _He must really be out of it._

"No, I'm serious, House. Why did you come with me – and why didn't you tell me what you were doing, instead of putting me under and sneaking along?"

"You said it: you would have made a fuss. Now I'm here, and it's too late." House pulled himself up to stand. "I'm here to give you medical care, Kutner. You're still recovering, and I told you there was a slight risk to your health if you left the hospital so soon. Maybe I didn't want you to take that risk without a medical professional on hand," he said seriously.

"_I'm _a medical professional, House."

"Who wasn't sleeping or eating until yesterday, who was being monitored for panic attacks and suicidal tendencies, and who keeps shrugging off any concern with 'I'm fine.' All of which is very annoying. So you're not exactly objective." House looked at him steadily. Kutner put his reeling head in his hands. He was started to 'clear up,' as it were, but he still was completely sideswiped with his discovery. He heard House continue. "I realize I'm not your first choice for companionship. I'm not anyone's first choice for that. But what's done is done; I thought it was the right decision to make. I'm here to keep you healthy, just as Officer McNugget is here to keep you secure."

Kutner lifted his heavy head. "Who?" _McNugget? Surely he's kidding…_ he thought in confusion as he envisioned the old life-sized McNugget characters in the retro McDonald's commercials he had seen as a child, wearing a policeman's hat and a badge. _House doesn't listen to names – he probably came up with that nickname after meeting him. It's sort of a funny vision though… NO, no I am not going to smile at that! It will only encourage him._

"The cop who's with us."

"What about Tritter?"

"Tritter isn't staying here." _Thank God, _House thought with relief. As reasonable as his nemesis had been during the whole hospital exodus, the idea of having to cohabitate with him could have been a deal-breaker. Too much, too soon. "He's going to pop in and check on us, but he's still heading up the investigation back home. So McNugget is our bodyguard. Seems like a decent enough guy. I mean, I don't really like him, but you probably will. He just ran in to town to grab some groceries. There wasn't much here when we arrived."

"So our protection… isn't here," Kutner said, disbelievingly.

"Not right this second, he's not, but I'm armed too, so we're ok until he gets back."

Kutner blinked. _Ok, now I __**must **__be hallucinating._ "Y-you're carrying a weapon?" He almost didn't want confirmation on that point. Not only did his eyes not need to see any guns in front of them, he wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with the idea of House packing heat.

"Yeah. You wanna see?" House suggested, thinking Kutner would be impressed with the piece.

"No!" Kutner yelped, a little louder than he meant to. At House's surprised look, he repeated himself a bit more calmly. "No. I'll just trust you on that." Luckily, House didn't press the subject, realizing that Kutner must be literally "gun-shy," and silently wishing he had not mentioned his weapon to a young man who had just been shot only a few days earlier.

Kutner was slowly becoming somewhat resigned to his fate. Maybe it was the residual effect of the sedation, but he just didn't feel like arguing in circles with House anymore. It wasn't going to help. It's not like he could _do _anything about it right now. Deep down, as worried as he was about everyone's well-being, including House's, he was somewhat comforted that he wasn't completely alone, that someone familiar was with him. Of course, he fully expected that feeling to change once he regained his mental clarity, or until House started messing with him. _So basically, in the next twenty minutes or so, I'm going to regret this…_

Kutner threw back the blankets and attempted to try to stand up. He succeeded, but then had to sit again when the room began tilting. He drank a little more water to rehydrate, and he noticed that he was still in a hospital gown, with a plastic ID bracelet around his wrist. "I'm going to need something to wear. I can't keep wearing this thing."

"We've got a little bag of clothes for you. Mainly T-shirts and sweats, loose things that won't aggravate your stitches. Not that we're going anywhere that has a dress code." House indicated the stairs with his thumb. "Your stuff is upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Want me to grab it?"

Kutner nearly said yes, but then thought the better of it. He couldn't send a man with a crippled leg up a flight of stairs. Even though House had completely gone against his wishes, even if he was frustrating him to no end, it would be uncharitable to make him do that when Kutner could climb them much more easily. "No, that's fine," he said, trying to be polite and keeping only a small hint of frustration in his voice to show his unhappiness with the situation. "I'd kind of like to take a shower anyway. And brush my teeth. Four days in a hospital and I feel gross."

"Well, _I _wasn't going to say anything…. There are some toiletries in your bag as well. Need help upstairs?" Kutner shook his head, thinking the logistics of the two of them climbing stairs would be too complicated to be worth it. He could manage that simple task on his own, even if he had to crawl. He stood up again, and with his hand reaching for whatever he could grab to balance himself, he made his way towards the staircase. House was watching him like a lion ready to pounce. Even though he didn't think Kutner currently had the strength or the equilibrium to climb a flight of stairs, he was pleased the young man was trying. "By the way, Wilson said the floor in your apartment is completely messed up. Like, you're so NOT going to be getting your security deposit back on that place. Just so you know…" he added, nonchalantly.

"Wilson was in my apartment?" Kutner stopped his snail's pace, supporting himself on a small end table next to the rocking chair. He barely heard the bit about his floor; his mind had latched onto the word 'Wilson' and clung there like a koala.

"Well, _someone_ had to get your clothes and junk."

"So, wait just a second here!" Kutner exclaimed, desperately trying to shake the remaining cobwebs from his mind so he could tackle this new unbelievable piece of the story. "I couldn't tell Taub anything that was going on because "we had to be discreet"; meanwhile, Wilson has been cast in the James Garner role in this bizarre remake of _The Great Escape_? Seriously?"

House geared up for his defense. "OK, first of all, I couldn't make all the necessary arrangements on my own; I had my own stuff to worry about. We don't know how long you'll need to be here, so you needed clothing, medication, that sort of thing. Wilson is discreet enough to help with that stuff and not get pissy that we were going, unlike Taub. Plus, he can help with damage control now that we're gone. And secondly," House paused and a huge, pleased grin broke out on his face. "Thank you SO much for the _'Great Escape'_ reference! That seriously just made my week! And for Wilson as 'The Scrounger' – Classic! Oooh, can I be the Steve McQueen character?"

Kutner stared. "Um… I guess?"

"Yes! Steve's awesome. But who are you going to be?" House thought for a moment. "Who was the token minority character in that movie?"

"I don't think there was one."

"There had to be at least one."

"It was set in a Nazi POW camp – I don't think the minorities would have lasted very long there." Kutner was already weary of the conversation. He was amazed it had continued this long. Under normal circumstances it would have been a kick, embarking on a pop culture tangent with House while the rest of the team stared, dumbfounded at any way this could be relevant to medicine. But right now, he was in no mood.

"Uh, wait, wait, what about what's-his-name, uh, Guy who Ran the Radio? Kenneth Washington's character?" House's eyes flicked upward as he tried to recall the correct actor.

"You're thinking of _Hogan's Heroes_ now." Kutner said, shaking his head.

"No, that was Ivan Dixon. He was Kinch."

"Only in the first five seasons. Kenneth Washington came in when Ivan Dixon left the show in season six."

Both men were silent for a second, looking at each other. Finally House said, "Ok, you watch way too much TV."

"Oh, said Dr. Pot to Dr. Kettle! Don't blame this freaking conversation on me! I was done with the allusion like ten minutes ago!" Kutner threw his hands up in dismay, before continuing on his journey to find the staircase. _Oh my God, THIS is what it's going to be like hiding with House? _

The stairs proved more complicated than he expected. It amazed him that in four days of being bedridden, he was viewing these fourteen steps as an emphysematic octogenarian would view the Appalachian Trail. Even as House coyly asked, "You need any help over there?" he gasped a determined "No" from his position on the seventh step. That was where he was forced to make his first pit stop, dizzy and sweating, his torso screaming at him. He rested a moment, climbed three more steps and had to stop again. Almost on cue, House called up to him again, "Because I actually _can _climb stairs when I need to!"

"Good – to – know… bu-ut – I'm – fine!" Kutner shouted back, though unfortunately it was more of a squeak. Four steps to go. Sucking in several deep breaths, Kutner forced his heavy legs to drag him to the top of the stairs. His triumph at reaching the second floor was short-lived though, as those pesky black dots returned to his vision, forcing him to sit down on the top step and support himself against the wall in order to catch his breath. And of course, from downstairs yet again: "I mean, geez, I could have gone up and come back down by now!" House waited to hear another indignant response. When it didn't come, he called, "Did you pass out?" A shaky but forceful "No" reached his ears, and he smiled to himself. _Might as well let him think he has some measure of independence._

Kutner finally managed to make his way to the small bedroom that contained a duffel bag with his clothing packed inside. He mentally noted that there was only one bed in the room, which was a huge relief – House wouldn't be his roommate, at least. The whole situation was far too surreal. Pulling back the curtains from the window, he looked outside and was astonished to see the ocean, just beyond a stretch of sand. The rumbling he had awakened to had not been thunder, but the sound of the waves. From what he could see from his vantage point, there didn't seem to be any neighboring houses around. _Where exactly are we? The coast, obviously, but are we even in New Jersey anymore? _he wondered, realizing he could be almost anywhere on the eastern seaboard. Jersey, Massachusetts, Maine, or possibly they went south. _This doesn't seem like the kind of place they use for safehouses on TV or in movies. This seems more like a summer vacation rental. _Allowing himself to briefly fantasize that this whole experience was really just a holiday on Martha's Vineyard, he selected a fresh T-shirt, boxers, and a pair of pajama pants to exchange for his gown, and made his way into the adjoining bathroom.

There was no tub, only a free-standing, glass-enclosed shower. Desperate to relieve himself of the layer of sweat, tears, and unseen but keenly felt hospital-grime, he let the gown slide off and entered the shower without taking the time to study his surroundings. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand, and was grateful to find that the water pressure was wonderfully satisfactory. Oh, that heat felt wonderful, and he leaned his head against the tile as he allowed the water to pelt him, hoping it would wash and cleanse more than just his skin. For what seemed like a fleeting moment, he was able to forget the nightmare of the past four days.

Reality flooded back though, as he emerged from the shower, unsure of how long he had spent beneath the stream of water. His bandages, which he had not removed before bathing, were wet and needed to be changed. Barely thinking, he gingerly pulled off each one with the intent of washing around the wounds with extra care. But as soon as he wiped the steam from the large mirror above the sink, he found himself momentarily stunned, seeing the full extent of his injuries for the first time. The incisions were beginning to heal, though they still looked quite fresh and raw, and there was some old bruising to be seen, especially where his kidney had been excised. He had seen wounds like this before on unfortunate souls during his ER duties, but the necessity of being a doctor in those situations kept him from dwelling too much on how those wounds bothered him, how much it made him think about his parents' deaths. Now he viewed his own body, the skin that he was fairly comfortable in, like it was alien to him. He barely recognized himself, and he was morbidly transfixed by his metamorphosis into a battered piece of meat. He haltingly fingered the still-tender stitches that were holding him together, but it was like he was watching a stranger in a parallel universe. Somehow, even though it had only been four days since he had last observed his reflection in a mirror, he looked frail. His skin looked pasty, and he could see a hollowness in his face. But most disturbingly, his normally bright eyes were dark with grief and fear. Though he hadn't seen them, mercifully, Kutner knew that wounds like these marked the bodies of his other family. He had survived something horrible. He had been the only one who had. He looked mangled… hunted… beaten. It seemed as though his body radiated his aloneness to the universe.

To Be Continued...


	29. Chapter 29

**Author's Note: **Thank you for bearing with the delay in updates. Somehow the universe decided to throw me under the bus the past few weeks- my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer and is starting chemo this week, a dear friend passed away last Monday, and I got the flu for a week and a half (and still can hardly talk). So, truthfully, my inspiration has been MIA for a little while. But hopefully, now that I'm healing and all, I can get back on track with EVERYTHING, including this story. :)

Chapter Twenty-nine

The knock at the door made him jump, bringing him back to his senses. "You done yet in there? McNugget is back, wants to meet you," House called. Kutner groaned inwardly. He had taken too long, and House had disregarded his bad leg and climbed the stairs to pester him, no doubt. Well, he certainly couldn't let House find him fixating on his messed-up body like this, like some insecure teenage girl. "I'm getting dressed, I'm almost out," he replied abruptly, and he was relieved when he heard House thumping back downstairs. He quickly pulled on the boxers and pajamas onto his lower half, but ran into a bit of difficulty trying to get into his shirt without straining his still-stiff, aching shoulder wound. As he hurried to get his arms through, he inadvertently bumped against the towel rack near the kidney incision, sending a horrific wave of pain through his body. He couldn't help but whimper a bit at the shock. He finally managed to finagle his upper extremities into the shirt, though not without breaking a bit of a sweat.

Going down the steep staircase was much easier than going up, much to his relief, though he did make an effort to go slowly so as not to lose his balance. House was waiting for him at the bottom of the steps, looking impatient. "For all that time you spent primping in the bathroom, I would have expected you to look a little more groomed," his boss said dryly. Kutner didn't bother to reply, merely rolling his eyes as they walked back into the living room. There was a new face awaiting them.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Kutner felt as he had as a child whenever he met strangers. His palms started sweating and it became difficult to swallow. New people had made him uncomfortable for years after his first trauma – he was unable to attend public school for four years because the thought of sitting in room with two dozen strangers for seven hours drove him to vomit from the anxiety. He realized he was being irrational – this was a cop, someone who was here to protect him. No one was going to hurt him, and he did have someone familiar nearby. Granted, it was House, but that at least was something. He _knew _this, yet he couldn't keep the old apprehension from welling up. He could only be thankful that his stomach was relatively empty at the moment. _The quickest way to a bad first impression is yakking all over a stranger's shoes…_

"This is Officer McNugget," House said, gesturing to the tall, casually-dressed guy standing by the fireplace. The oddly-monikered man approached him with a genial smile, his hand extended in greeting.

Kutner wasn't sure what he had been expecting – that bizarre vision of the Nugget characters had stayed rooted in his brain. So it was a surprise to him that nothing about this man's appearance seemed to warrant such an appellation – he was young, probably early 30s, fit, with a pleasant face. He tried to relax and focus on the fact that this guy didn't look threatening at all – in fact, he looked like someone he would possibly be friends with in another time and place. As he hesitantly shook the man's hand, he also realized that there had been no correction of House's introduction. "Y-your name is really McNugget?" he asked, feeling stupid even as he said it. He blamed it on his nerves.

McNugget smiled at him. "Well, technically it's Nughet, with an 'h'…" he said, stopping to spell it out. "Malcolm is my first name, but when I became a cop the guys started calling me Mac. Mac Nughet… 'McNugget' was a rather unfortunate nickname I received at the academy, and it kind of stuck. I tried to pull a Stephen Colbert and switch to a French pronunciation – _noo-jay _– but for some reason that never quite caught on. Not as entertaining, I guess." He shrugged with a sheepish smile. "But, please, call me Mac." He gestured to the couch, indicating that he should sit. "I just have a few things to go over with both of you." Kutner sat down on the sofa. House, appearing restless, stood behind him, unwilling to alight anywhere until his turn came.

"I've been updated on your case, and I just wanted to start out by saying how truly sorry I am for your loss," Mac said gently, his face full of sympathy. Kutner felt his eyes begin to prickle, and looked away to blink back the tears. The pain was still too raw to accept condolences without getting emotional. But this was not the time for tears, not in front of House and a total stranger. Mac went on. "I realize this is a very strange situation to be in, and I know you must be… apprehensive, at the very least." Mac hesitated to use the word _scared_; even though this poor kid was obviously petrified out of his wits, he didn't want to call it out or make him feel like a coward. "I want to assure you that Detective Tritter and my other colleagues have taken every precaution to make sure that you remain safe. We just have a few rules that you need to be aware of.

"First of all, of course, you cannot contact anyone back home. I know your friends will be worried about you and I know you will want them to know you're okay, but we can't take the risk of someone finding out where you are, either by eavesdropping or tracing the contact somehow. We have several safehouses available for our use in the tri-state area, and if this one becomes compromised in any way, we may have to move to a new location. I know the house looks a bit out-dated, but it's been outfitted with some of the most advanced security systems available. There is an alarm system, and we have some high tech surveillance equipment that will alert us if anyone approaches the house. The town is fairly small, about ten minutes away on foot, and the nearest neighboring house is about a mile and a half up the strand. There are not a lot of people around right now, since it's low season. Memorial Day weekend is when it starts getting busy."

"We'll be here that long?" Kutner asked in a small voice. It was only the first week of April, and here they were talking about the end of May, or possibly beyond. How long was this nightmare going to last?

"I don't know. I certainly hope you'll be able to return home as soon as possible, but that will all depend on when and if we get your assailant into custody. Unfortunately, there's no set timeline for that." Mac looked apologetic. "If, for any reason, I need to contact Tritter, or vice versa, we have our secure method of communication, and he will be checking in with us as he can.

"You won't be able to go anywhere unaccompanied. I understand that you are recovering from some pretty serious injuries, so you most likely won't be venturing outside much anyway for the time being. Dr. House, you'll need to stick close to home base as well – you're also rather… conspicuous," Mac said, attempting to be PC. "Do either of you have any questions for me?" He looked expectantly at both men.

Kutner didn't feel like saying anything by that point. He got the picture; he was essentially a prisoner here, reduced to certain level of captivity in order to preserve his life, like an endangered species. The last of his kind – last of the Kutners, last of the Choudrays. He thought about rare animals in their habitats at the zoo. Some obviously had been born and raised in captivity and it was all they knew. But what about the ones who came from the wild – the creatures, like himself, who had been injured on the outside by something stronger than they and brought into captivity to recover, since they obviously had no chance of surviving on their own in the real world? They lived comfortably enough, no predators to worry about, plenty to eat, even some companionship if there were enough of their species in the world to be had. Did they know they weren't free? If they ever were able to return to their old lives, would they make it on their own? Or would they just die off?

House on the other hand, had no desire for such musings. "I've got a question."

Mac smiled tolerantly. He had gotten 'acquainted' with the gruff doctor last night on the drive to the cottage. With Dr. Kutner passed out in the backseat, he and House were left to make small talk. And it had been very small indeed, and snarky for the most part, despite his efforts to be cordial. "What is it, Dr. House?"

"Are you done with your so-called rules now?"

"Yes, House, if there are no other questions," Mac sighed.

After a brief pause, House moved to the forefront, dominating the room. "OK then, now for MY rules," House said, a smile that might almost have been evil teasing his lips. "The Nugget can go for a smoke if he wants, these are just for you," he added, his blue eyes trained on his employee.

Mac made no move to leave; he was curious to know what rules House was determined to impart. He figured it would have to do with Dr. Kutner's physical and mental recovery – from their brief exchanges in the car, he gathered that the young man was having a rough time of it. He had briefly wondered if perhaps he should tell his protectee about the incident four years ago that had taken the life of his partner. He knew the agony of survivor's guilt, too. But that story was probably best left until they knew each other better, until House was otherwise occupied. House had made it abundantly clear that while Mac was the one protecting them, _he_ was in charge of Dr. Kutner. Well, the rather-convoluted metaphor House had used was, _"Kutner is the Star of India in the crown, and I'm the King of England. Technically, he's mine, and I'll handle him how I see fit. You're the Tower guard with the tall, fuzzy hat. You stand there and protect the king and the crown, but you stay quiet." _

"Oh God," Kutner groaned, putting his head into his hands at the mention of special "rules." _House, couldn't you wait a day or two before letting everyone know you're the Alpha Male? We've been here for, like, five minutes – what rules could he possibly have?_

"Rule number one: You will eat at least three times a day. I don't care what you eat, or when you eat, but you will eat, and it will be a satisfactory amount of food as well. You want a Twinkie at 3 AM, fine by me, but you're going to eat the whole Twinkie. Rule number two: You will sleep. We can try with medication or without, your choice. If any nightmares pop up, we'll work through them and then try again. Which brings us to Rule number three. There will be no more of this scratching thing you're doing to keep awake and thinking no one's noticing. If it really is an involuntary action on your part, if I feel it's necessary, I will resort to the 'chicken pox' treatment." At Kutner's blank look, House clarified. "Meaning, I will duct tape oven mitts to your hands. Just so you know what you're up against."

"Oh my God," Kutner murmured again, rolling his eyes, and yet he fully believed House would do that to him. He was convinced he would have no dignity left by the time this ordeal was finished, if it ever was. "Any more of your rules?" he asked dully.

"Oh yeah, I'm just getting warmed up," House grinned. "Rule four: In addition to your twice-daily buspirone, you will take pain medicine as needed. I am putting an end to your martyrdom. I will be in charge of your medication. I have a whole smorgasbord of stuff, depending on how bad the pain is. You hurt, you take something for it. And before you make some snitty little remark about _me_ being the one to monitor your pain meds, let me just make one thing clear… Shut the hell up. Rule number five-"

"Geez, I get it! Don't you think you're getting carried away here?" Kutner grumbled.

"Now, now, this is the last one, and this is the most important one, so listen up." House became very sober and quiet, looking at Kutner steadily. "Rule five is this… I fully expect you to have bad moments, given what you've been through this week. You won't be bouncing back from this overnight. But there's a difference between grief and despair. If you feel upset, panicky, or depressed… if you feel… you know, _off_… like you want to do something that could hurt yourself, you come to me." Kutner looked away, embarrassed. _Oh God, did he have to bring that up in front of Mac? Or at all? I barely even know this guy, and now he thinks I'm a mental case. _House snapped his fingers to make him return his gaze. "Hey! I'm serious here, Kutner. I need you to tell me if you start feeling that way; sometimes the meds can cause an increase in those kinds of thoughts. No one back home needs to know about it; I won't rat you out. I'm not a shrink or anything, but you don't need to feel bad for thinking that way. I just need you to be honest with me so that I can help you. Can you do that? Do we have a deal?" House held out his hand, expectantly.

It took every ounce of dignity he could muster to accept that offer. But eventually Kutner did, shaking his boss's hand in silent acceptance of his deal. He really had no other options at this juncture. He didn't bother to mention that he was still ambivalent about the idea of taking his own life. It remained to be seen if, should he have a moment of panic, he would actually bring himself to approach House for help on that front.

* * *

Wilson had purchased Taub coffee and a donut, and had given him further counsel in the cafeteria. When Taub's pager went off, calling him back to the office – which Taub was reluctant to return to, seeing as how he had trashed it earlier – he went as a calm man, his lid tightly capped, ready to keep his temper in check for the next case. At least for now. Within reason.

Having temporarily diffused the situation, Wilson was returning to his office when he heard a vaguely familiar voice call his name. He turned and saw Detective Tritter approaching him. His eyes wide, he asked in an urgent whisper, "Tritter? I thought you were with House and Kutner."

"No. I'm still heading the investigation here," Tritter explained. "I assure you, they're safe, and in very good hands. Everything is going according to plan on that front." He rubbed his neck uneasily. "I saw you with Dr. Taub earlier – I figured he'd be upset in light of the move, and I didn't want to intrude… but I need a word with you." Wilson wasn't exactly a fan of Tritter's; the man had really made a pest of himself a few years ago, and the blackmail and taking of certain deals had done a real number on the oncologist's conscience. Granted, House had not been very helpful in his own case, but that really didn't excuse Tritter's vendetta-like pursuit of House's destruction. But like House, ever since Kutner had been injured and the acerbic detective had been thrown back into their midst, Wilson had felt that he needed to be cooperative, for the greater good. Tritter still wasn't on his list of favorite people, and he didn't particularly want to have a friendly chat with him. But something in the detective's eyes told him this was important, so Wilson nodded and invited Tritter into his office, where they could talk privately.

"What's up?" he asked, closing the door behind them.

"I understand you were at Dr. Kutner's apartment yesterday, gathering some personal items for him." Tritter waited for Wilson to acknowledge the information. "Can you tell me what time you were there?"

"Uh, between 10:15 and 10:30, I think," Wilson said confusedly. "I wasn't there all that long, I had a consult I needed to be back here for at 11. Why?"

"The only things you took from the apartment were clothing?"

Wilson narrowed his eyes at that. "Uh, _yeah... _That's all I was asked to get. Should I have-"

"Was anything amiss in the apartment that you could see?"

"Amiss? Well, I think that depends on your definition… I mean, the floor in the bedroom is stained beyond repair with blood; it's soaked into the wood. There's no way that's ever coming out. But otherwise, yeah, everything else seemed reasonably normal…. at least I thought so until you asked. Why _are_ you asking? What's going on?" Wilson felt his neck growing hot. Tritter was obviously perturbed about something, and of course that could only mean it was something bad.

"A tenant in the neighboring building called into the precinct – he was home sick from work. He claims to have seen a white male climbing up the fire escape and entering Dr. Kutner's apartment at around 10 AM yesterday morning. He thought the man looked suspicious, so he kept watching." Tritter paused, gearing up for the next piece of information. "The man reemerged onto the fire escape at 10:53 and climbed back down into the alley. The description our witness gave matches that of our suspect. Dr. Wilson, are you absolutely sure of the time frame you spent in the apartment?"

Wilson sputtered, "Yes, I'm sure! I…wha… are you saying someone was in there while I was? That's not possible! I didn't see anyone, didn't hear anything… Are you sure you have the right apartment?" This couldn't be true. He hadn't noticed anything strange… but then again, he hadn't been looking for anything strange. He had gone in to get clothes and Kutner's toothbrush, not to investigate the scene. Frankly, the thought of lingering in that space where such a God-awful crime had occurred freaked him out. He hadn't bothered to take much in, aside from the stain on the floor, which a blind man would've been unable to ignore. The idea that he had not been alone when he had thought he was alone, that someone had possibly been hiding somewhere, watching him – a killer – nearly made him ill.

"It's the right apartment. An investigator went by to see if anything was missing…" Tritter paused. Wilson didn't like the pause. "And?" he encouraged, though not sure he wanted to hear.

"All of Dr. Kutner's valuables were still there – computer, TV, his collectibles… As you're probably aware, the crime scene was limited to Dr. Kutner's bedroom, with the rest of the apartment undisturbed. But now something is missing that had been there the last time the police had been at the scene. Dr. Kutner had a pair of photos in a twin frame on the wall in his living room, photos of both his families. Yesterday the frame was found on the floor, and both of the photos were gone. Nothing else is missing or even moved."

_I didn't even notice that,_ Wilson thought to himself in dismay. "Well, what does that mean?" he sputtered. "Who would take a couple of photographs?"

"Someone who wanted a little souvenir of his crime, perhaps?" Tritter said with unexpected bitterness. That slip in professionalism surprised Wilson as much as this new information. So Kutner's attacker had returned to the scene to bask in his triumph, and stolen a personal possession of his victim to commemorate his atrocity? What sort of psycho was this?

"That's sick…"Wilson breathed, incredulously. Then something else occurred to him. "Wait, Tritter… if this guy was there, then he saw me getting Kutner's clothing and stuff… does this mean he knows that Kutner was leaving the hospital?"

"I truly don't know, Dr. Wilson. I hope not. We made certain that we were not followed to the safehouse last night. Even if Donne knows that Dr. Kutner isn't here, he won't be able to find him. House and Dr. Kutner are secure, at least for the time being, but I am still concerned about Donne returning to the hospital to check for himself." Tritter paused again. "I'm also concerned about House's team. Whoever was in the apartment did not accost you; if it _was_ Donne, then he opted to observe rather than approach. He could construe that if Kutner is not here, he's apparently also not returning to his apartment. It wouldn't be much of a stretch for him to believe that he's staying with someone until he fully recovers. That means he might start profiling those closest to Dr. Kutner – starting with the team…" The remainder of Tritter's hypothesis hung unsaid in the air. He didn't need to say it; Wilson comprehended his meaning completely. "We need to tell them."

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

**Author's note: **I'm back! RL been interfering majorly with my stories. If anyone's still out there, here's a nice long chapter for your troubles. Sorry! I reference a couple of season 5 episodes in this one - not extensively, just little "blink-and-you-could-have-missed-them" moments. I riff on them a bit for the sake of character development. A little humor, a little angst - hope you like it, whoever still reads my sporadic snippets.

**Chapter Thirty**

The day had been a slow one as the three new housemates settled in. This was not Mac's first time in this particular safehouse. He had been here a few times before with various witnesses, for various reasons and time periods, and it was actually a place he didn't mind returning to. Maybe it was the isolation of the house, or maybe it was the expansive sky and the presence of the ocean just beyond the dunes. Time slowed down, and you were removed from the outside world. There was a certain peace here. If you wanted to escape from something, this was a great place to do so, in so many ways. He had walked House and Kutner through the little cottage where they would be spending their days, pointing out a surprisingly complex security system complete with cameras and alarms, and trying to suppress a chuckle as House cheekily suggested that Kutner's code name be 'SlumDawg Millionaire,' making sure the pronunciation indicated the slang distinction. It hadn't even been that funny by itself, but the look on the young man's face had been incredibly amusing, as had the look House had given when Kutner quickly responded, without missing a beat, by bestowing on him the code name of 'Limp Biskit.' Clearly, they shared a similar sense of humor and both had wits to match.

He had decided, after some careful consideration, that he liked both of these men. House had been a difficult call; he hadn't been completely sure what to make of him, especially since House was sort of serving as a partner to him in this endeavor. He wasn't used to "superfluous civilians" just tagging along on witness protection details, especially ones with a significant physical disability, and he wasn't sure how House had managed to worm his way into the operation. Tritter must have had his reasons. Aside from this, House had quickly tired of the novelty of the 'McNugget' nickname and was now slowly working his way through the McDonald's menu whenever addressing him.

However, while not really a people-person (an understatement if ever there was one), this Dr. House was apparently a noble jerk, acting in such a fashion in order to keep Dr. Kutner's spirits up, to get him to react and interact. He seemed to take great pleasure out of pushing Kutner's buttons, but he seemed even more pleased when Kutner would respond. It was subtle, just a brighter glint in the blue eyes, a slight lift at the corner of the mouth – not a smirk, and not a smile but a miniscule something-in-between. What did it signify? Relief? Pride? Mere delight at having a playmate (a position Mac assumed he had been peremptorily rejected for, if he had been considered at all)? Despite his acerbic tongue, he never said anything too appalling to the young man. It was more like a protective and somewhat playful goading, and he appeared to know his limits. House, at his outrageous core, was really not as insensitive as he seemed. Mac was certain of that. But if he had not been able to deduce that, and if Dr. Kutner had not been emotionally able to rise to the occasion and meet that sarcastic demeanor head-on, Mac would have probably slapped House upside the head quite early on.

Kutner, on the other hand, was easily likeable. Despite the awful things he had been through, he was quick to engage with House, mostly out of sheer exasperation, and though he could give as good as he got, he was never petulant or mean-spirited. And from what Mac knew of the case, he had every right to be. The poor kid (and Mac couldn't help but think of him like that, despite Kutner being only a few years younger than himself. Perhaps it was the lost quality in his eyes…) had just had his life wrecked. He wasn't exactly smiling, and it wasn't likely to do so any time soon, but he had enough spirit to banter with House, which was something at least. Mac knew Kutner was battling some major demons – his suspicions had been raised during the drive as well as that morning when they arrived. While Dr. Kutner had slept in his drugged-up stupor, House had made him remove all the sharp utensils from the kitchen. They would be using plastic during their stay. House had placed an overwhelming amount of medication in a locked toolbox, which had been set discreetly in a cupboard; he kept the key to the lock on his person. Though House had not really said so in so many words, Mac could see he was clearly taking measures to keep Kutner from harming himself in some fashion, virtually "baby-proofing" the safehouse. It sounded his own internal alarm, and he would be extra-vigilant as well. Though, he had to admit, despite the pain he knew the young man was in, Kutner didn't seem like the sort of person to give up and take his own life. At least, that wasn't the initial impression Mac had gotten, but then of course, first impressions could be misleading. Mac hoped that Tritter and his colleagues in Princeton could resolve this situation quickly so that they could return and Kutner could begin the long journey back to the land of the living. _Maybe it will do him good to get away – and not just for his safety, _Mac thought to himself. _This is a nice, quiet place. He can rest here, and let himself recover, and hopefully the peace will make itself felt._

* * *

Taub closed the front door, locking it securely. Now that he was alone in the house, he sat down right there in the foyer, his back against the door. Rachel was gone. The latest information from Tritter had spooked him, and he had come home immediately after the team briefing. His wife had been both surprised and pleased that he was home so early, but her smile faded as she took in the expression on her husband's face. "We need to talk," Taub had said quietly.

After explaining the entirety of the situation, which he had been unable to do before, he insisted that she go stay with her mother for a few weeks. Initially, she had resisted, unwilling to leave him behind. Perhaps he _could_ have gone with her, but the patient case they had received that morning needed his attention, and besides, they were under instructions to carry on normally. If Donne was watching them, even if he wasn't sure Kutner was missing, he would know something was wrong if they behaved any differently than they had for the past week. The goal was to draw him out at the hospital – if his attention was kept there, perhaps he would make a mistake, allowing the cops to catch him. Taub had to assure Rachel that he would be spending the majority of time at the hospital anyway, which was swarming with security, and not alone here at their home. And there would be a patrol car watching the house, just in case….just as there was right now. As she wept onto his neck, he had whispered, "Baby… He had no problem at all shooting two innocent people when he didn't find what he wanted. I can't take that risk… not with you."

And so, after several hours of tearful protestation and arguing, she finally acquiesced. She had gone. To upstate New York, to the safety of her mother's condo, for no telling how long. Once again, Taub found himself quite alone. The house echoed with emptiness. Or maybe that was his heart. _At least, _he thought, _I know where Rachel is. I know she's safe. I wish I knew where Kutner was, if he was safe. I wish I could be DOING something, instead of feeling completely impotent. I wish… so many things… _The tears finally came as he buried his head in his arms. Now he completely understood Kutner's fear, the desperation to keep the people he loved – the ones that were left – safe. At that moment, he felt completely in sync with his friend, even though they were miles apart. Strangely though, it did nothing to ease the aching feeling in his chest. In a little while, he would pack his things and head back to the hospital. But for now, he wept – for his friend, for Mr. and Mrs. Kutner, for himself and Rachel. For their peace and his own. It had seemed almost tangible that morning, but now appeared to have fled yet again.

* * *

The three sat together in the living room as night descended. Mac was dozing a bit in the rocking chair, the lack of sleep from the previous night catching up with him. House was fiddling with the dials on the television and simultaneously trying to position the rabbit ears on the top to minimize the snow.

Kutner was once again stretched out on the sofa, comfortably ensconced with pillows, and occasionally commenting on the channel reception for House's benefit. So far, Kutner had followed the rules he'd been given to the letter. He had grudgingly eaten his meals that day, small as they were given his recovering stomach. He had taken the medicine House had given him – the buspirone as well as mega-strength Tylenol, which Kutner insisted would be sufficient for the time being. Given his sneaky drugging of the previous night, House allowed it during the daylight hours, as long as Kutner was willing to acknowledge his pain when it got worse. Rule five hadn't come up yet; then again, it was only the first day. The rule he felt he would have the most trouble with was number two: sleeping. And without the scratching to help him, as per rule three, he was in a bit of a predicament.

Perhaps it was because of the residual effects of the sedative he had been given, or the strain of his injuries and the physical activity he had endeavored in this new environment, but he had been fairly weary all day. He felt his eyes growing heavy in the low light of the room. _Can't fall asleep; stay awake, stay awake… _he mentally chanted to himself as his fingers slowly drifted over to his other hand, when…

**BEEEEEEEEEEP!**

The sound was so unexpectedly jarring that both Kutner and Mac sat bolt upright, Kutner giving a little yelp of surprise. Wide-eyed he turned to House, who was holding a little red object in his hand, looking very satisfied with the reaction he had received. "House, what the hell was that?" Mac spoke the words before Kutner could.

"A buzzer," House replied matter-of-factly. "There's a closet with all sorts of board games and puzzles and rainy-day junk in the back hallway. This came from a Taboo box." He held up the little red buzzer, which had been quieter than an airhorn but just as obnoxious.

"And now it's going back in the box, House," Mac testily interjected. There was no way he was going to listen to that silly thing all evening.

"No, it's not, McFlurry. I was looking for something exactly like this. I decided to make it my 'Kutner's Itchy' alarm. Every time I catch you with your claws out, I'm gonna beep at you." He pressed the buzzer again to make the point, causing both Mac and Kutner to grimace a bit. "Should break you of that scratching habit pretty fast, I'd imagine."

"How very Pavlovian of you," Kutner grumbled. _Oh, no, this won't be ridiculously annoying at all. _"You're not seriously going to use that thing the whole time we're here, are you?"

"You bet. At least until you quit hurting yourself."

"House, it's not my fault! And it really doesn't hurt; I'm barely aware I'm doing it-"

"Which is why I'm calling your attention to it – so you'll be aware and you'll stop yourself." House smirked benevolently while Kutner glared. They remained locked in staring contest for a minute, neither keen on backing down. Finally, Kutner realized that House would have his way, if only because he was truly too exhausted to fight him at that point. "Oh, f-"

**BEEEEP! **House pre-empted what might have been a curse from the young man's lips, and Kutner rewarded him with another death glare, a look that made whatever he had been about to say abundantly clear. Mac couldn't help himself – as annoyed with House as he was, _that _truly tickled his funny bone. He covered his amusement with a cough as he leaned back in his chair. Kutner soon followed suit, secretly planning to swipe that little beeper and throw it into the ocean when House's back was turned. _I actually used to enjoy playing Taboo until today. Thank you very much, House…_

Two more instances of being beeped like that, and Kutner decided it was time to retire. He would retreat to his room and do what he needed to do to avoid his nightmares, away from House's prying eyes. He would give every semblance of going to bed, and once the everyone else was asleep, he could find some way to occupy himself. If that meant reading, or pacing, or even ripping every inch of skin off his person, then by God, he would do it till daybreak if that was what it was going to take.

After brushing his teeth, Kutner emerged from the bathroom into his temporary bedroom, and he was surprised to see House settling down in the armchair in the corner with a pillow and a blanket. He looked like he was planning to perch there for the night. And to Kutner's horror, that stupid Taboo buzzer was next to him on the nightstand. The sight stopped him in his tracks, and for a moment he could only open and close his mouth like a fish as he struggled to find words. Finally, in a Herculean effort not to be rude, he asked, 'I'm sorry, isn't this my room?"

"Yeah." House answered, like it was an obvious question.

"So your room is down the hall, correct?"

"Technically."

"Were you planning on _using _that room?"

"Eventually."

Well, this was certainly getting him nowhere. "House, what are you doing in here?" he finally asked point-blank, frustrated even though he already knew what House's intentions were.

"Keeping the boogeyman away," House replied, smarmily. Kutner glared at him.

"That's not funny at all," he grumbled.

"I'm just going to make sure you don't scratch yourself into oblivion, that's all. Once I'm satisfied that you won't do that anymore, I'll leave you to your privacy." House shrugged.

"You're really going to sleep in here because of a little nervous habit?" Kutner crossed his arms sullenly. _I'm really a moron. Did I really think it was going to be that easy? Have I learned NOTHING about this man in two years? Oh God, and he's going to beep and boop at me with that damn buzzer all night long... I want to stay awake, but I don't want to be annoyed while I'm awake._

"Some nervous habit… If it draws blood, I consider that to be a BAD habit that needs to be broken. Only a matter of time before one of those deep scratches gets infected. I want to stop it here, before you decide this is no longer enough and you move on to something that's a little more difficult to stop."

"Really, House-" Kutner began, but House interrupted.

"It's not really up for discussion, now, is it?" House's tone made it clear that no, in fact, there would be no discussion, at least on his end. Kutner could debate this on his own until he was blue in the face for all he cared.

"You can't seriously be comfortable in a chair," Kutner tried to reason.

"Well, aside from the floor, there's nowhere else to be…. unless I crawl into bed with you? We can spoon," House invited sarcastically, and it was all he could do not burst into laughter at the panic on Kutner's face.

"NO!" Kutner yelped in disgust. Trying to regain his composure, he continued, thinking quickly. "I just meant that… if you really insist on sleeping in here, I could take the chair and you could have the bed. For your leg," he added pointedly. _Plus, if I take the chair, I'll be sitting up. Then it will be harder for me to get comfortable and it won't be so tempting to fall asleep, _he added triumphantly to himself. He was already going to Plan B, since it seemed obvious that House wouldn't be allowing him any privacy any time soon.

House struggled not to roll his eyes. Kutner wasn't going to manipulate him that easily. "No, there's no need to do any of that," he grunted, pulling out his trump card. He reached down and pushed a handle on the side of the armchair. A leg rest swung out, which House comfortably stretched his limbs upon before smiling smugly at Kutner, who was kicking himself for not noticing the armchair in his room was a recliner.

"House, I…" Kutner stammered. How could he make himself heard? He looked at the floor, uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why he was having trouble articulating this; surely House knew full well what kind of night was probably in store for him. The man couldn't know what sort of horrors he saw when his eyes were closed, but he must be able to guess – that this situation went deeper than just mere "bad dreams." These were panic-inducing terrors, and House was planning on sitting in here and potentially witnessing the whole unholy mess his psyche was in? "I'm probably going to, you know… have some trouble sleeping and stuff," he finally murmured.

House nodded. "I know. That's why I prefer to be in here – it's actually easier on my leg not to have to come running from another room."

"Well, you shouldn't have to come running at all…" Kutner muttered, feeling stupid.

"I'm not– like I said, that's why I'm camping in here for the time being." House studied him. He had expected the balking, a little protesting – well, a lot of protesting. But why was he so _embarrassed_? Was Kutner truly that nervous about his dreams running amok on him, or was he acting this way simply because House was present? _Does he think I'll mock him? Well, I guess that does sound like something I would do… usually… _"Kutner, I've seen you have a nightmare before, remember? It was this week in fact. You think you're the first person to ever have a bad dream because of a traumatic event? Believe it or not, I've had a couple before in my life, too," House grumbled as he attempted to fix his pillow in a reasonable location. "Frankly, I would think there was something pretty wrong with you if you weren't having trouble sleeping right now. So just chill out, ok? I know it's going to take time before your pattern becomes normal again, but you can't just avoid it in the meantime." Kutner didn't appear reassured but he hesitantly nodded.

As Kutner grudgingly got into bed, House watched him, perplexed as he kept switching positions. Tossing and tossing, never staying in one position longer than a few seconds. "Dude, settle already!" House finally exclaimed in exasperation after five minutes of this activity.

"Excuse me if I'm having issues getting comfortable, House. I am currently full of holes, you know."

"You just took a pain pill, like five seconds ago – give it a minute to start working before you start flopping around like a catfish. I'm getting seasick just looking at you."

"Then don't look at me! Geez."

"You're the only thing to look at in here." House waited a little while longer for Kutner to finally find a reclining position that didn't cause his wounds to throb or his stitches to pull. Upon being certain that the young man was finally settled, he smarmily asked, "Comfy now?"

"_Yes_."

"No need to get testy," House grinned at the abrupt answer. He leaned over to turn off the lamp on the bedside table, but suddenly Kutner jumped. "House, don't!"

House stopped mid-reach, surprised at Kutner's sudden burst of panic. "What!?" _Is there a spider on the lamp? Please don't let there be a spider on the lamp…_

"The… the light," Kutner stuttered, turning red from embarrassment. If he was going to have a nightmare like the one from the other night, he did not want to wake up in darkness, where whatever evils, real or imagined, could still be hiding. "Don't turn it off… please?" He looked like he was bracing himself for an onslaught of mockery. _And now my boss thinks I'm five. Terrific. _House just looked at him for a moment, then said softly, "Because of the nightmares?"

Kutner avoided meeting his eyes. House nodded to himself, and said, "Ok. Light stays on." He leaned back in the chair once again, and Kutner was both stunned and relieved. _That's it? No commentary? I can't believe he just let that go. _

House hadn't really let it go though; instead he decided to both change the subject and at the same time, satiate his curiosity on this issue of bad dreams. Given the events of the past few days, and Kutner's refusal to take sleep aids or pain medication that could make him drowsy, not to mention the physical manifestations of his anxiety, he couldn't help but wonder. "So… before this week, before all of THIS happened… when was the last time you had a nightmare related to what you went through?" House asked, thoughtfully.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Kutner replied evenly as he pulled the blankets over himself; he wasn't mean about it, he just didn't want to open up this topic of conversation with House.

"I'm only asking for your well-being," House insisted.

"I'm sure."

"Oh, come on! I'm genuinely interested!"

"Genuinely nosy, you mean."

"You've said in the past that you're up late a lot, like watching the Discovery Channel and stuff. Is that because you don't need a lot of sleep as a rule, or is that because you frequently have trouble sleeping?" House pressed, unwilling to drop the matter until he got what he thought was a satisfactory answer.

For a moment, Kutner was quiet, thinking and staring up at the ceiling. Then he turned to face House and said, with his face the very picture of innocence, "I'll tell you about my sleeping habits if you tell me something _I've _been wondering."

House looked at him suspiciously. This might get sticky, depending on how Kutner planned to spin the situation. "And what, pray say, is that?"

"When do you plan on biting the bullet and asking Cuddy out?"

"Wait - what?"

"You heard me. You guys gonna hook up or what?"

House's jaw dropped, completely dumbfounded._ What just happened here? Crap, abort! Evasive maneuvers! _He gave every semblance of keeping his composure though."Ok, now we have officially traveled into None-of-Your-Businessville. Well played."

"No, really, House. I'll be happy to tell you anything you want to know, but I get to ask you awkward questions in return."

"We are not at camp, and I am not about to start playing 'Truth or Dare For Refugees' with you. Especially at this time of night."

"But I'm genuinely interested. I'm only asking for your well-being." Kutner spoke evenly, turning House's previous sentiments to his own use.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Kutner. And we know how you feel about cats." House looked at him pointedly. Kutner turned his gaze up to the ceiling, lying on his back. House smiled to himself, thinking the battle won.

After the briefest of pauses, though, Kutner went on as though House had not spoken. "I mean, she's really hot. You guys were tap-dancing around each other for months, and now you seem to have cooled things off. All that hormone-fueled back-and-forth would have driven me nuts if I were you."

"And he's _still _talking about it! I get it, I shouldn't have asked about the nightmares. Point taken. My bad. Aaaand…. Sleep!" House made great show of dropping his head onto his pillow and snoring dramatically. But that didn't sway Kutner.

"I just don't see what the problem is. I mean, is it because of the baby?"

_If he doesn't quit talking about this I'm going to kill him before Donne can. _How on earth had Kutner taken control of this conversation anyway? Wasn't House supposed to be the annoying one? Without opening his eyes, House grumbled, "Don't make me get the buzzer."

"The sooner that thing's batteries run out, the better."

They both lapsed into silence. When Kutner didn't say anything further, House began to wonder if he had already fallen asleep. But that seemed a bit quick, given the spirited discussion they'd been having. After a few seconds' deliberation he decided to open his eyes and see for himself why Kutner's feistiness seemed to have abated so abruptly.

Kutner was back to looking at the ceiling, still awake, but seemingly lost in thought. There was a look on his face… and that look suddenly made House feel uneasy.

"Yoo-hoo," House said softly, almost unwilling to call Kutner back from wherever he was. But he simply had to know what had pulled the young man's mind away from their argument and into deep contemplation. Deep contemplation that could possibly become dark and dangerous…

"February."

"What?" House asked, puzzled. Obviously he had moved on from the Cuddy topic, but what on earth did February mean?

"The last time I had a nightmare…" Kutner said quietly. "The Dana Miller case…"

"Huh." House grunted, perplexed as to why Kutner had decided to drop the Cuddy thing and answer his original question. More to the point, the answer was not what he had anticipated. _February. Only two months ago. That's way more recent than I would have expected, _he thought as he quickly sifted through his memory, trying to find any indication that Kutner had been "off" while they had been treating the famed ex-cancer researcher. Suddenly he had an epiphany, sharp as a lightning bolt. "That day you were late, later than me?" He waited, and Kutner nodded imperceptibly.

That had been Groundhog Day, Cuddy was pissed at him and made him believe the elevators were broken, and he had climbed the stairs. Kutner had come in to the office after him, and he distinctly remembered asking him if he had taken the stairs as well. He had made a mental note to grill him about being tardy, but was so caught up in the confusing elevator thing and, later, dealing with the case, the onslaught of Cuddy's pranks, and the Foreteen issues from the drug trial, he hadn't followed through. It was so unlike Kutner to be late for work; for him to arrive after House who was always late, not give any sort of excuse, and not be as chipper as usual should have been a sign that something was up. Maybe not catastrophic or life-altering, but something unusual that broke the routine. _I should have followed through… _House thought guiltily. _It's not like I didn't notice. I saw something was weird, but I didn't pursue it. So he had a bad night, and… what? Needed to pull himself together before coming in? Damn it, why didn't I badger him about it? I would have pestered Taub to death about something like that – I __**have **__pestered Taub to death about stuff like that, for less even; I would have made all sorts of innuendo about Thirteen… why did I not mention it again?_

He couldn't let it drop. Maybe it was his guilt that made him ask, "Was it a bad one?"

"Yes."

"So…is it the same thing every time? The same dream scenario?" he asked carefully.

"No." Kutner didn't elaborate further, and that drove House crazy. But he couldn't push the subject, or else Kutner could shut down completely. _Ok, calm down. You can't expect him to talk about every single neurosis on the first day. He's still suspicious of me; he still doesn't think he can talk to me. Well, until we're out of hiding and he can start therapy, I'm all he has. He's going to have to talk to me if I'm going to keep him alive._

"Ok." He decided to let that be his response. That way Kutner would know that House had heard him, and wouldn't press for more unless he wanted to give more. But it didn't appear that Kutner did at that time. Instead, he timidly said, "House? You don't need to answer my question; I don't really expect you to. But… would you mind just… like, talking for a little while longer? About anything. Just to… you know…" He now officially felt like an idiot. _Just to keep the monsters away? Geez, how lame can I possibly be?_

To his surprise, House set aside his blanket and struggled out of the recliner. At first, Kutner thought he had somehow managed to inadvertently succeed in getting House to go to his own room – maybe the request had been too much. As talkative as House had been, maybe he didn't feel like continuously jabbering into the night (with the light on, no less) just for Kutner's benefit. But no, he had merely gotten up to inspect the small collection of books on the shelf in the corner.

House had figured Kutner would make a request like this – after all, he had been reading a big file on all the young man's childhood issues for the better part of the week. The psych notes made by Kutner's old therapist showed that in the early days of his stay with the Kutners, his adoptive mom had lulled the traumatized little boy to sleep at night with just her presence and her voice. Hadley had mentioned that Kutner had wanted to talk rather than sleep, and from the comment to Taub last night about how he had met his wife, House figured that Kutner had sort of regressed back to that time emotionally, and was seeking the same sort of comfort. Only now, he had to find it where he could, because his mother was no longer there to give it. House didn't trust his own ramblings. It was one thing to goad Kutner with carefully-formulated snarks. But if he just allowed himself to speak off-the-cuff, especially as the night wore on and he grew punchier, he was a bit worried about saying something that would trigger a meltdown. So he would turn it over to the authors on the shelf, and let them do the talking.

Only one problem though. "Lot of chick-lit over here…" House murmured, half to himself, in frustration.

"What about Chiclets?" Kutner asked confused, only hearing part of his grumbling.

House rolled his eyes. "No, chick-_lit_, as in literature… like chick books. Books for girls. Sorry, but there's no way I can tell you a bedtime story by Danielle Steele and not hate myself forever."

"This from the man who organizes his day around soap operas," Kutner muttered under his breath.

"Hey, I heard that. Don't mess with my stories. Besides, I watch the manly soaps."

_An oxymoron if I've ever heard one, _Kutner thought. "What makes a soap opera manly?"

"Well, there's a strong mob presence – it's just like watching _The Godfather_, and you can't get manlier than that, right?" He examined another title. "My God, it's like the check-out line at the grocery store over here. I mean, I can read a Harlequin romance when there's nothing else around, but I can't read this stuff out loud to you. Maybe I could if I was intentionally looking to freak you out, but I actually don't want to contribute extra fodder to your nightmares. Nor do I want to have any. The last thing either of us needs right now are stories about heaving bosoms and rippling pecs." House shuddered.

Kutner rolled his eyes, sighed, and propped himself up with his strong arm. "House, never mind about the books, ok? It's really not that important. Please, just sit back down, it's fine-"

"Ooh, wait! I know just the one! Hang on a sec," House said, ignoring him while having his epiphany. He stood up fully and limped out of the room quickly. "House, please – you don't need to go downstairs!" Kutner groaned. _Oh geez, I didn't mean to make him deal with the stairs. Couldn't I just have kept quiet? Why does this have to be such a production?_

To his surprise (and relief), House had not bumped his way to the staircase, but to the bedroom down the hall that was presumable "his," and he returned promptly, a large tome under his arm. "Saw this earlier and thought of you – should hold us both for a couple of nights at least." He held up the book – _The Lord of the Rings. _"Now, just to verify, are you one of those snippy people that say you can't like both Harry Potter AND Tolkien? Because this seems like the sort of thing you like."

Kutner was stunned, but found his voice. "Those are the same snippy people that say you have to choose between _Star Trek _and_ Star Wars. _I like both of those equally, so that means I can like the Harry Potter books and the Ring trilogy equally too. I can't believe you found that here." Between the ages of 12 and 18, _The Lord of the Rings _had been his favorite book, bar none. He suddenly remembered with a pang that first time he had read it….the old, well-thumbed copy that had first belonged to Richard Kutner.

Kutner listened to House's voice as he began the familiar narrative. He had always liked this book. Fantasy was always such a welcome diversion, whether in movies, books, or tv. The characters he gravitated to and identified with always had a quality of "otherness." Well, perhaps some people, the less imaginative ones, would say he liked the "outsiders" – the ones who were different, set apart in some way. Frodo, Harry Potter, Luke Skywalker, Spock – they all were somewhat solitary. Not necessarily lonely – these characters all had strong, significant relationships. They all experienced a "belonging" on some level, even if they were still "other." Aloneness… that was different from being lonely. He understood this – what it was like to be a solitary person, but still surrounded by friends. He had once remarked to a patient that it was kind of interesting being on the outside looking in. And it was, too, for the most part.

Of course, there were always those people, well-meaning or not, who lacked discernment or sensitivity and decided to point out the "otherness" of these characters, the ones who went looking for the easiest place to wound. These people were not necessarily the villain or the main antagonist of the story – sometimes it was just someone who acted as a stumbling block, poking the sharp stick into the most vulnerable spot they could find. He understood this well. There had been people, some who were children, some who were insensitive adults, who had turned their attention on the matter of Kutner's race as a blatant indication of his adoption. It didn't matter that he was loved, or that he was legally a Kutner – to them, the irrefutable differences (especially the physical ones) from his Mom and Dad made it strange. And usually if it's strange or different, it needs to be commented upon. He remembered his Mom taking him with her to meet a new neighbor shortly after his adoption became legal. The neighbor had eyed him and said something along the lines of, "Does he speak English?" and Kutner remembered his normally friendly and hospitable Mom going cold. "_Excuse me_?" she had growled. The neighbor seemed a bit put off by Mom's change in demeanor, and replied, "What? Sorry, I didn't know if he was one of those 'just-off-the-boat' orphans or not." It was clear the neighbor was not sorry at all for her words. Kutner's eyes had bugged out, as his Mom had grabbed his hand and said, "What he is, is _my son_, and you will never speak of him in such a derogatory manner again." She had pulled him into their house and held him tightly as his lip trembled a bit, not just at the neighbor's blunt, unfeeling words but also the fierceness he had never before seen in this gentle woman. Fierceness for him… she had fought for him.

Mom and Dad had made him feel like his otherness was something to be cherished. As though he was a rare jewel, and not an oddity. For them, perhaps he HAD been a rare jewel, that son that they never were able to produce on their own. There had been a need on both sides: he needed a family, they needed a child, and they had fulfilled each other's needs. It wouldn't have mattered to them if he had two heads and a tail, let alone brown skin. It didn't matter that he came 'used'; to them, he was a treasure. Had he taken that for granted? Now that they were gone, he was once again alone, again singled out by his tragic life. Again, he was strange. Solitary. "Other."

"Kutner? Do you want me to stop?"

House's voice cut through his thoughts, and he blinked in surprise. "What?"

House was watching him with a concerned eye. "You're crying," he pointed out quietly.

Kutner reached up to wipe the tears that had apparently been streaming from his eyes and onto his pillow. Just like the scratching, he hadn't even realized it. How long had he been silently crying like that? Was he really so disconnected from his body that he couldn't feel his own tears? He heard House press for more information. "Are you hurting?"

_Yes, I hurt_, Kutner thought, knowing full well House was asking about the physical. _But a pill won't help with this. Nothing is going to help. _"No. I was just thinking…sorry."

"You going to tell me what you were thinking about?"

Kutner shook his head. "Not right now."

House paused, then nodded in acquiescence. "Ok. Maybe later. Want me to keep reading?"

"Sure."

To be continued...


	31. Chapter 31

**Author's Note: I'm back, after a long absence. I have finally completed my PhD, and thus, am done with school permanently. To celebrate, I have long chapter to add, and hopefully more time to contribute to finishing this puppy off. I'm sure any loyal readers probably gave up on this story since I was gone for so long without an update. But if anyone out there is still reading, I hope you enjoy - picks up where the last chapter left off. Long live my Kutner!**

**Chapter Thirty-one**

House kept reading as the hours ticked by. He stopped to check his watch and saw that it was a little after 1:30 in the morning. His voice was starting to wear out. He glanced over to the young man in the bed. He had had to beep at Kutner just once during their storytime, but had not had any repeat offenses. Kutner's eyes were closed, he appeared to be breathing evenly. But House wasn't entirely sure if he was actually asleep. Maybe he was simply trying to relax himself, focusing on NOT scratching. He thought he should make sure, so he began adding to the story, still in his reading voice. "Well, as Gandalf and Gimli smoked up the last of the hobbit weed, Legolas decided to give Merry and Pippin pedicures to pretty up those hairy feet. Meanwhile Aragorn was frantically looking for Sam and Frodo, whom he finally found in the bushes playing 'find the ring under the elf cloak…'" None of this gibbering caused any reaction. _He must have actually fallen asleep._ It was quite unlikely that Kutner would have remained silent on these editorial improvisations if he was still awake. Satisfied, House decided he should probably try to catch a nap while everything was calm. Kutner's nightmares could kick in at any time. Perhaps this was what it was like having a new baby – you sleep when they sleep.

Setting the large book down in his lap, he leaned back in the recliner, closing his eyes against the dim lamp. He briefly thought about switching it off but frankly, he was too tired to care. He didn't need it to be completely dark in order to sleep. Plus, if and when Kutner began having a night terror (and he certainly couldn't rule that out), he wouldn't accidentally stumble in a darkened room in the effort to help him. For the moment, he let his mind drift in the peaceful silence.

He wasn't sure if he actually fell asleep – probably so, for a minute or two at least – but he awakened sharply to the sound of a low moan. His eyes opened blearily and he saw Kutner's body twisting beneath the sheets. His teeth were clenched, his face tense with anxiety, and he let out another involuntary whimper. He was definitely showing signs of distress. _Showtime, _House thought grimly.

He approached the bed and reached out to wake the young man from his dream before he got too agitated. "Kutner, hey-" But as House took hold of Kutner's shoulder, something in the touch triggered a tremendous outburst of thrashing and screaming. "Whoa now! Hey, it's just me! Wake up!" House spoke forcefully, attempting to shake his fellow awake. It didn't work as House had hoped. Instead, for some reason, Kutner's attempt to fight off his imaginary assailant grew more frantic, and his fist managed to connect with House's mouth. Hard. It was so unexpected that House released his grip on Kutner and stumbled back a few steps. Wincing and tasting blood, he exclaimed, "Damn, Kutner! That hurt!" _OK, no more pussy-footing around here. _He quickly regained his footing and put his hands back on Kutner, grabbing his flailing arms and pinning them down. He loudly said, "Kutner! WAKE UP, RIGHT NOW!" and gave him a light (well, _moderate_), yet no-nonsense slap on his cheek, taking just a slightest satisfaction in that bit of retribution as his own face was stinging quite a bit. Kutner's eyes flickered, the dilated pupils focused and constricted as he dazedly took in his surroundings, looking for whatever was attacking him. His breath came in hiccups, and as the realization came that the nightmare was over and he was in fact safe, the hiccups grew into breathless, ragged sobs.

Once he was certain that his charge knew where he was, House carefully let go of Kutner's arms, and immediately Kutner covered his eyes with one hand as he shakily tried to control his breathing. Feeling a bit out of his element, House did his best to try to calm him. "Okay. Okay, you're fine… calm down," he said, a bit gruffly but not unkindly. He helped Kutner sit up as he continued to hyperventilate. "Breathe…"

"Oh, G-god, H-h-house…" Kutner stammered, his hands still covering his face. "I... i-it was so…so… real. He act-actually came at me this t-time. I t-tried t-to fight back…"

"Yeah, you've got some right hook for a guy with a bum arm," House said wryly, giving a slight smile as he rubbed his still-tingling jaw gingerly. Kutner's head snapped up in horror. "What do you mean?" His eyes took in the red mark on the side of House's chin and the blood oozing from an already-swelling lip, and he suddenly went even paler than he already was. "Oh my God… H-house, I – I hit you?" _What have I done? _he thought in dismay, and his blood went cold as he realized he had assaulted his boss. It didn't matter to him that he hadn't intended to. "Oh God. Oh my God… I'm sorry…" he whispered, putting his head into his hands in mortification, unable to hide his distress. _Even if he doesn't fire me for this, how can I ever look him in the eye again? _

"It's fine – Kutner, look at me," House said insistently. "Look at me!" Kutner met House's eyes like a puppy who knew he did a bad thing and was awaiting punishment. "You didn't know what you were doing. I can't hold you responsible for something in your subconscious."

"I _hit_ you! I hit you in real life, not in my subconscious. It's not fine, it's not okay!" Kutner exclaimed in frustration. He was utterly disgusted with himself and his actions. He bent his head and he ran his fingers roughly through his hair, feeling the perspiration which had left it damp. He kept his hand up, shielding his face from view with his fingers.

"Well, I technically slapped you just now – looks like we both assaulted each other. We can call it even." House said lightly, attempting to shrug it off.

"Everything ok in here?" a voice said from the doorway. House looked up to see Mac, peering into the room warily, his body half hidden by the door. Kutner did not look up, unwilling to acknowledge an extra witness in this debacle.

"Yes." House said evenly, gesturing to the officer that he was not needed at the moment. Mac took in the sight of House's bloodied lip, and his eyes drifted to a distraught-looking Kutner, whose shoulders were visibly shaking. Though, since Kutner's face was hidden by his hand, he could not discern if the shaking was from fear or rage. He assumed it was the former. House saw him still in the doorway, assumed he was gawking, and with a bit more authority to his tone, repeated, "Everything is _fine_, McNugget. It's all under control. Go back to bed."

Mac paused, then nodded and said gently, "Call if you need me. I'm just down the hall." He slunk back into the hallway. The situation was still too new for him to insert himself into such an emotional mix. As he made his way back into his room, he quickly and quietly took the cartridge from his gun, the gun he had instinctively grabbed when the commotion had started. From the terrified screaming that had awakened him from his deep sleep, he imagined that the scene before his entrance had been chaotic. He believed that House's bloodied lip had been an accident suffered in the heat of the moment. The older doctor actually appeared no worse for wear; Kutner on the other hand, was obviously beside himself. House did seem to have the situation under control for now, and hopefully he could keep that control.

House, for his part, was a bit stuck in how to proceed. _At least his guilt about hitting me has distracted him from the nightmare for a second, but now he's all freaked out about that. What the crap am I supposed to do now? I'm not a therapist, I'm a real doctor. Do I make him talk about it? Do I get him to go back to sleep? Should I give him a sedative, or leave it alone? Geez, I'm not supposed to hug him, am I? Come on – there has to be an answer here. Oh man, I'm in way over my head. _He really hated feeling so unsure. _OK, let's try the talking first. _"Kutner. Look at me." The young man didn't comply. "Eyes here. Now," he repeated. Finally, Kutner lifted his face from his hands, but his red eyes still could not meet House's.

"I know you feel bad for this. But it wasn't your fault – you were dreaming someone was attacking you and you fought back – that's a good thing. Besides, this is not the first time I've gotten punched, and I am pretty sure it won't be the last. Remember Big Love? You'd be surprised how many hits I've taken –in the past five years alone." He smiled a little. "You know, out of all of you guys I actually thought Taub was going to be the next person to throw a punch at me, but he would have had to go find a step-ladder, and then the element of surprise would have been lost …" he tried to make his tone casual, but sadly it didn't bring any reaction from Kutner, good or bad. "Anyway, the point is, it's not a big deal to me, so do yourself a favor and put it out of your mind, ok?" Again, Kutner didn't respond. House sighed and said, "A little acknowledgement would be appropriate right about now."

"Just how am I supposed to forget about what I did when your lip is swelling up like an eggplant?"

"Ew, really? Is it that bad?" House asked, interested, probing the cut and the lump with his tongue. It _did _feel pretty swollen at that.

"Yes." Suddenly Kutner threw back the covers and jumped up with more speed than House could have anticipated. Stunned, House asked, "Where are you going?"

"Getting you some ice," Kutner muttered as he all but sprinted to the bedroom door, ignoring the pain his movements caused to his injuries.

"Kutner, wait a second-" House called, but by the time he managed to pull himself up and grab his cane, Kutner was already halfway downstairs. House hurried to follow him.

Kutner stomped into the kitchen, fumbling for the light switch. _I don't know what's happening to me, _he thought in a daze, as he opened the freezer. His mind was spinning. _I used to be fearless. I thought I had moved past all the bad stuff, and for what? _The old-model appliance contained neither ice cube trays nor a built-in dispenser, so Mac had bought a large bag of ice with the rest of the groceries. He roughly pulled the bag out, staggering a bit from the unexpected weight, and began looking for something with which to break off some chunks. The air of the freezer had chilled the already-cold sweat that was on his skin, and he was suddenly aware of how fast his heart was beating. _Now I'm afraid of my own shadow, defending myself against things that aren't there. And I wind up hurting real people! I'm so screwed up! _There were no knives in the drawers, nor an ice pick or other such thing. Furious, he grabbed one of the plastic knives from the counter and began to futilely chip away at the ice block. _Is this how it's going to be from now on? I'm going to be a coward for the rest of my life? What sort of life can I have if that's the way it's going to be? _His thoughts were coming so rapidly he felt dizzy.

His frustration grew as he heard the thump of House's cane enter the kitchen, but he did not turn. He couldn't bear to look House in the face, and see that bloody lip. How could he have done this? He liked House. Yeah, he could be a major pain in the ass (in fact, he usually was, and he certainly had been today), but Kutner still liked him. Always had. House understood what it was like to be "other;" for that reason, like all those characters he identified with, Kutner connected to him in a weird way, even rooted for him. It didn't truly matter that much whether House liked him or not, since the experience of working for him and practicing this sort of medicine was such an awesome and fulfilling rush. Though, it did seem like House enjoyed having him around, even if it was only as some sort of court jester in his diagnostic kingdom. But astonishingly enough, House had been nothing but good to him in the wake of his attack and his parents' deaths. It was a little bizarre, to be sure, since it _was _House after all, but it just proved what Kutner had always believed, deep down – House was not the heartless bastard everyone made him out to be. Additionally, House had uprooted himself from his job, his life, to accompany Kutner on this strange field trip, for some odd reason that he couldn't quite figure out. _And how did I repay him for that sacrifice, for the concern that is surely costing him a great deal of effort to show? He's trying to help me and I beat him up!_ He continued his assault on the ice, anything to avoid acknowledging his boss's presence behind him.

"You didn't have to follow me all the way downstairs, House. I would've come back," he murmured. Though his voice sounded loud in his ears, it wound up coming out as little more than a hoarse whisper. He felt like his throat was closing up; it was hard to swallow.

"I know," House said, feigning confidence because deep down, he had not been so certain that Kutner wouldn't just run off into the night. "But I wasn't through talking yet and I didn't want to lose my train of thought." He kept his tone even, but he remained intensely focused on Kutner's feverish activity. The way Kutner was stabbing at that bag of ice with a flimsy plastic utensil was reminding him of the shower scene from _Psycho_. "This is a bit new to me, you know," he said carefully, trying to be casual. "I mean, of all the times I've ever taken a hit, I usually deserved it. Hell, in some cases I was asking for it."

"Not this time. No excuse for what I did to you," Kutner said, his voice quivering and devoid of any sort of life. _He sounds really freaked, _House thought, and he was suddenly very grateful he had had the foresight to remove the real knives from the kitchen earlier.

"Well, tell you what – at some point during our acquaintance, I _will_ probably do or say something that will make you feel like giving me a fat lip. We'll call this one a freebie." He tried to sound nonchalant, hoping Kutner would finally see that he wasn't mad about the situation.

Kutner increased the furor of his chipping. "I'm not a violent person, House," he said, his quiet voice juxtaposed against the frantic motion of his hands, and he was still unwilling to turn around.

"What, you think I'm an idiot? I _know _that." House said, taking a step closer. "Although, given how you're going at that ice, I am very glad you didn't have a weapon in your dream." _Come on, Kutner, turn around and look at me…_

Kutner was now hurriedly rummaging around for something to contain the small shards of ice he had managed to break off.

House went on. "Of course you weren't being violent for the sake of being violent – you were defending yourself against a threat-"

"Which wasn't really there." Kutner managed to find a clean dish towel and wrapped the ice in it.

"Let me finish. You were defending yourself from a _perceived _threat. My face happened to get in the way, but them's the breaks. This is a good thing, Kutner. You have some fight left in you."

"Sit down, House."

"You first." He didn't like the way the young man was shaking. This was escalating beyond simply being upset by a bad dream and mortified about the punch. This frenetic activity might be the reemergence of his original panic, and panic wasn't good. He needed to get Kutner to calm down before he either hurt himself somehow or passed out from hyperventilating.

"House, sit down so I can put this on your lip…" but Kutner's hands were trembling too badly. He fumbled as he attempted to bring the towel over to his boss, and the ice chips fell from his grasp, skittering all over the linoleum floor. "DAMMIT!" Kutner cried in frustration, and he bent down to retrieve them.

"Kutner, just leave it for a second..." House began, trying to decide what else he could say as Kutner knelt, scrambling for the ice that kept sliding through his out-of-control, freezing fingers.

"House, please just let me fix this!"

"It's not something to be fixed; it is what it is. It's a fat lip – nothing life-threatening, or worth flagellating yourself over. It's going to swell, it's going to bruise, but in a few days it'll be fine. I've had worse, believe me," House tried to insist. "Get up off the floor. It's fine."

"Stop saying it's fine! It's my fault, just let me-"

"You can't fix it, Kutner!" House raised his voice finally, grabbing Kutner's shoulder and giving him a little shake. Kutner flinched a bit, looking dazedly up at House's towering form in surprise. "I know you think it's all your fault, and I know you just want to fix it and make it go away, but you can't go back and undo what's happened, no matter how much you wish you could. That's the way it is – it's not fair, and it royally sucks more than anything I have ever seen. But it wasn't your fault. NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT, and if I have to scream it at you every day for the rest of my life to make you hear it, then so be it!"

House finally stopped in his rant to inhale again. Kutner stared up at him – his brown eyes wide, his cold hands shaking so badly that he finally dropped the dishtowel. Any pretense of going into default doctor-mode fled, and looking at his face House was suddenly reminded of when Bambi's mother died. Kutner's shoulders slumped and he let out a ragged gasp as he leaned forward, his hands pressed against the wet floor. Waves of pain and anxiety rolled over his body, and hot tears began to form in his eyes. _Oh my God… I can't fix it. There's nothing I can do… I hit House, I ran away from Taub after I lied to his face, I abandoned my parents before I laid them to rest… Mom and Dad are dead, they're really dead. It's my fault they're dead. I don't know why, but it is. I can't fix it! I can't go back and save them. I killed them. What did I do? What am I going to do? I don't know what to do! _The panic he had been feeling was diminishing, replaced by overwhelming grief and confusion. "I'm so sorry…" he began, not even sure who he was trying to apologize to this time.

House nearly brushed off the apology yet again, but his own words suddenly echoed in his head: _**Let him say he's sorry if that's all he can say.**_That's what he had told Taub yesterday. And yet he had not heard his own admonition. _That's the only thing he can do, the only thing he has to cling to. He can't fix his situation, he can't bring his parents back and they can't forgive him… I need to let him have something he can fix and control. I need to let him say he's sorry. _He pulled a chair out from the table, scraping it on the tiles, and sat down in order to be closer to Kutner's level. "I accept your apology," he said gruffly, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. "I forgive you."

Kutner looked up at him, his eyes bright with tears and uncertainty. Had he heard that correctly? Had House just given him the absolution he was so desperate to receive? He had said he was sorry so many times in the past few days, for being a bother to his friends and making them worry about him, for acting like a jerk, for repeatedly falling apart all over the place. And of course, the big one – for somehow inadvertently screwing up so much, his parents had paid the ultimate price. There was nothing else to say; 'I'm sorry,' as futile and pathetic as the words were, was all he could muster to cover his multitude of transgressions, both real and imagined. Everyone he had said those words to – well, everyone who was still living – had waved off his apologies, brushing his frantic sentiments off as those of a crushed and fearful victim, riddled with irrationality. Everyone said it was ok, not to worry about it, it wasn't his fault, and a whole host of other trope designed to make him feel better. But they really hadn't. Instead, he felt he had not been taken seriously, that he hadn't really been heard. They all meant well. They didn't want him to torture himself with the guilt he was carrying, so they negated it. But no one had _accepted _the guilt. His friends thought they were doing him a favor. No one had acknowledged that he _wanted _forgiveness, that he was desperate for it.

But… had _House _heard him? "You… forgive me?" he whispered. He knew it was just about the punch in the face, but it was something, if House was actually genuine about it.

"Yes. I forgive you. And you know what goes along with forgiving right?" House looked at him, like a teacher hoping to impart a lesson. Kutner saw sincerity in his eyes. Even when he was being a jerk, you could always see the true intent in House's eyes – you just had to look deeper. _He really means it… he's not just saying it to make the situation go away faster. He really is going to forgive me!_

Kutner swallowed as he thought about what the companion element to forgiveness was. He replied hesitantly, "Forgiving and… and forgetting?"

"Bingo," House nodded. "You gave me your apology, I took it. I give you my pardon, you take it. And then we move forward. We're square now. OK?" Kutner nodded in a daze. He was so surprised to receive the clemency he had been looking for all week, and from House of all people, he was unsure of what to make of it. "C-can I still put some ice on your lip?" Kutner stammered. He was a bit at a loss for what to do next, but being a doctor seemed to be a logical next step. "To bring the swelling down?"

House involuntarily reached up to touch the still-throbbing part of his mouth. He gave a tiny wince at feeling the lump, and said, "Yeah, if you want to." It _was _probably a good idea.

Kutner pulled himself up from the floor. He was a little lightheaded from the anxiety bout, so he had to take a moment to steady himself. Then he broke off a few more chips of ice, wrapped them in the towel and gently set that towel against House's lip. House reached up to hold it in place. Kutner seemed a bit calmer now, if still a little pale and shaken up. "Sit down," House invited, indicating another chair at the table. Kutner obediently complied, plopping into the chair with unusual gravity. Both were silent for a little while, House adjusting the placement of the ice every so often whenever he felt his chin going numb, and Kutner looking somewhere far off, like he was trying to collect himself both outwardly and inwardly.

Minutes passed. House finally couldn't take the tense silence anymore. "You okay now?" he asked cautiously.

"Yeah… I think so," Kutner nodded feebly, with a deep shuddering sigh, though he didn't sound entirely certain. His panic was gone now, and his breathing had evened out. But he felt totally drained, and his body was beginning to ache. He absently reached up and lightly touched his chest, fingering the stitches of that wound through the fabric of his shirt.

"Need something for pain?" House asked. He figured Kutner's adrenaline was wearing off, which meant a probable increase in his discomfort.

After a moment's hesitation, Kutner nodded with a slight wince. This pleased House: Kutner was being honest about his pain level, which meant he wasn't going to further punish himself by suffering through the pain in silence. At least not tonight. This was a good thing – he was taking the deal they had made seriously, and he was following through. He tried not to smile as he stood to retrieve some medicine from the pharmaceutical stash. He had no qualms about opening the toolbox in front of Kutner, because even if the young man snapped and thought about overdosing at some point, he would not be able to break the locks on the box. Besides, Kutner didn't really seem to be paying attention to him at the moment. After rummaging around a bit, House retrieved the pills he was looking for, and popped one into his hand. Stopping by the fridge to get a bottle of water, he set the elements before Kutner. As the young man swallowed his pill like an obedient child, House thought for a moment about his next move. "It's almost 4 am. I don't know about you, but I'm totally wired. Going back to sleep is totally out for me. How about a little tv?" he suggested nonchalantly. He was pretty sure there was no way Kutner would be willing to even attempt to sleep again tonight. Perhaps he would further relax a little in front of the tube, and possibly even drift off again on his own. It was worth a shot – it would make things seem sort of normal, make a bit of the lingering awkwardness recede. Maybe he could reinforce the message to Kutner that they really were going to put this incident behind them for now.

Kutner seemed willing, and the two men wordlessly wandered into the living room. It was almost as though they had never gone to bed in the first place, as Kutner resumed his familiar place on the couch and House once again attempted to fiddle with the dials and the antenna. Finally, House managed to locate a relatively clear channel that had an old rerun of 'Quantum Leap' playing on it. This appeared to be suitable for both of them, so House plopped into the armchair, keeping the volume reasonably low so as not to annoy Mac upstairs (this was at Kutner's insistence; House had barely even remembered the cop was in the house, and most likely wouldn't have cared if the man was asleep again or not). They watched in silence together, but as House stole an occasional glance at his fellow, he saw the tension gradually melting a bit from Kutner's weary face. For the moment, they were just a couple of guys, hanging out and watching tv.

As the sky outside began to lighten to grey, House glanced over and saw Kutner dozing against the throw pillow. It wouldn't be for long, he was sure, but at least he was getting a little of the rest he still desperately needed, at last. House figured tomorrow night's bedtime would have a whole new host of problems, but he would worry about tomorrow night… well, tomorrow night.

* * *

The elevator doors opened and Taub emerged into the lobby. "Taub!" a voice called to him, making him turn. Foreman and Hadley were approaching him. "We were just about to page you. You're earlier than we expected," Foreman noted, sounding somewhat pleased.

"I should be – I slept in the on call room last night," Taub replied shortly. Though the bed had been comfortable enough, he had slept fitfully, and the circles under his eyes proved it. His anxiety had only lessened slightly when Rachel had called his cell, to let him know she had arrived safely at her mother's.

Hadley gave him a sympathetic look, knowing that, after their meeting with Tritter yesterday, Taub had planned on sending his wife away as a precaution. She and Foreman had spent the night at his place for a change, since his apartment building had a doorman and more security accoutrements than hers did (after all, he could afford such). With the police detail out front, and the mere fact that they were together, she felt reasonably safe. They had no way of knowing if Donne would really search their respective homes for traces of Kutner, but if he believed that Kutner wasn't in the hospital, it was a strong possibility. At least she and Foreman had each other and would be together both at home and at work. Taub's situation was much more complicated, and she knew he had to be struggling in light of the latest information.

Foreman did not appear quite so sympathetic. After all, they were all going through the same situation. Taub's suffering was no worse than theirs. "The treatment we started for the patient's rash isn't working. We need to regroup. Go get your lab coat on and meet us in the DDX room." He handed Taub the case file, but to his surprise Taub didn't take it.

"I'm not coming."

"What do you mean, you're not coming?" Foreman asked incredulously.

"Just that. I have something I need to do."

"Whatever it is, it can wait. We have a patient. Just because House isn't here doesn't mean you aren't still on the clock." Foreman glared at his subordinate, irked that he wasn't being acknowledged as leader.

"Foreman, with all due respect, this is not the time." Taub stated tiredly, and began to walk away. But Foreman wouldn't let him go.

"Kutner's gone, Taub. He may be gone for a long time. You're jealous you weren't picked to go with him and pissed off that House was. But sulking about it won't accomplish anything. You're just going to have to deal with it."

Taub turned on Foreman and, with anger quietly burning in his eyes, he said as calmly as he could, "I will be back in a couple of hours and at that time, I will be happy to do all your work for you so you can bask in your new role as _temporary _boss, ok?"

"So, you're going to let the patient suffer while… what? You going to go lick your wounds now? Just what is so urgent that you can't do your job today?" Foreman crossed his arms and waited for Taub's excuse.

"Foreman, I am going to bury Kutner's parents!" Taub hissed. That immediately silenced any retort Foreman was planning on making. You could have heard a pin drop. Taub continued quietly, "I made a promise, and not you, or this patient, or Donne himself is going to stop me from keeping that promise right now."

Foreman immediately felt bad for his badgering, but his pride kept him from apologizing. Before he could give Taub his permission to take the morning off, Hadley spoke up with a calm, diplomatic tone. "You go, Taub. It's okay, we've got it under control. We'll see you later." She pulled her boyfriend away before he could protest, and Taub continued on his way.

Foreman called her out when they got into the elevator. "I didn't tell him he could go."

"You weren't seriously going to prevent him from going, were you?" Hadley asked, beyond irritated. The doors closed.

"No. He gave a good reason, but I needed to know when he'd be back. I'm still in charge right now, whether he likes it or not. He still needs to respect me. And by the way, I don't need you running interference for me, Remy," he muttered grumpily as he pressed the button for the fourth floor. The elevator began to rise.

Hadley's green eyes blazed. "Then stop being an ass to Taub," she said tersely.

"He's a big boy – he needs to suck it up."

"WHAT? He's devastated over all this! Between the situation with Kutner and the safety of his wife, he's worried sick. Before you start flaunting your authority all over the hospital, cut him a little slack, ok?" Foreman was surprised at this unexpected protective streak in Hadley… and for Taub, of all people, a man who certainly didn't need any sort of coddling.

They were about to pass the third floor when she stuck her finger out and hit the '3' button, causing the elevator to shudder to a stop and the doors to open. She stepped off the elevator, much to Foreman's surprise. "Where are you going?"

"I can't be around you right now," she said, without turning her head. "I'm done arguing. We'll pick it up when Taub gets back… after you apologize to him. The patient isn't dying, he's just uncomfortable – he can wait a couple of hours." She kept walking, anxious to get away from her boyfriend before her irritation with him caused him to say something she would regret. Foreman didn't stop her, and she found that she was relieved.

This week, Hadley had begun to realize how dearly she cared for her colleagues. They had nearly lost Kutner. The memory of his blood in the ER was still fresh in her mind, and she recalled it with a chill. Chase and Taub's skill in the OR had saved his life, but no one had been prepared for the added blow of his parents' murders. Once again, they had nearly lost him, this time as Kutner had shut down emotionally. But little by little, he had begun to return to them. Now he had been whisked away for his own protection. For the time being, she was unable to support and comfort Kutner, so she turned her eyes to Taub. If she had been this affected by Kutner's attack, how much more for the older man who had befriended him?

Upon first meeting Taub as number 36, he had seemed distant, coolly detached and tinged with bitterness, like he didn't really want to be there. She hadn't particularly liked him right away, and she had assumed the feeling was mutual. Kutner, meanwhile, had turned his 6 into a 9 and lit a patient on fire, and remained in the game. These antics amused her, and she had liked him just fine, but she never thought he would make it as far as he did – he seemed much too reckless. When it finally came down to just them, she was struck by how Kutner attempted to reach out to both her and Taub; now that they had won their positions, they could really get to know each other and become friends. She guiltily realized she had brushed him off several times, as caught up as she was in her own issues, but somehow he had still managed to crack the tougher nut that was Chris Taub.

Taub was lighter with Kutner – more relaxed, more ready with humor. The bitterness was slowly melting away, revealing a genuine person. In an odd way, Kutner was like Taub's better half at work. It was such a typical sight to see them eating lunch together, or walking down the hall, Taub's legs doing double time to match Kutner's longer stride. Their unlikely friendship formed while breaking into homes and running lab work, and they had become sort of a joint entity… 'Taub-n-Kutner.' And right now, surrounded by death and pain, that entity was temporarily broken. It was not unlike that past fall, when Wilson had left the hospital in the wake of Amber's death, and attempted to sever his friendship with House. House had floundered without his touchstone. That was Taub now – he was floundering.

Hadley recalled how Taub looked that morning in the ER – white as a ghost; haunted eyes brimming with tears he could not bring himself to shed, for every tear was a precious minute wasted; with his friend's blood on his hands and clothing that told the tale of his efforts to save Kutner's fragile life which was still not yet secure. Then the lengthy vigils at his bedside, refusing to move even as Kutner disconnected from them; looking for any possible way he could ease some of that suffering. Taub was hurting deeply right now, because despite the fact that it was just temporary, it was as almost as though Kutner really had died after all. And he was determined to carry out Kutner's wishes in his absence.

She respected and admired Taub for his commitment to that task, and to their friendship. And her boyfriend's behavior irked her. She had known for a while that Foreman's emotions had an off-switch. He tended to maintain a very brusque, stoic exterior at work – this was both a natural part of his personality and a result of working for House for so long. No wonder Taub had compared him to a robot. She had smiled at that because it was true… at work. No one else saw what she saw. She knew he could be sad, tender, flirty, funny, sometimes even silly. But he was also ambitious. His confidence in his own skill and experience often crossed over into arrogance. Hadley knew it, and it was tolerable because House was the boss, keeping it in check. Now their check was gone, along with their light, and the tension among the three of them was palpable. Frankly, she thought that Foreman's ordering Taub around just now had been over the top and unnecessary. And suddenly she knew where she needed to be. Where she wanted to be.

* * *

Taub stood in the peaceful cemetery, glad that at least the day was sunny and somewhat warmer than the earlier part of the week had been. He was alone with the rather generic clergyman the funeral home had provided to give the appropriate blessings over the final resting places of Richard and Julia Kutner. No one else was there. Everything had been so sudden, and Kutner had been indisposed for so long, then taken so quickly, he had not known who else to contact for the proceedings. Of course, there could be a real memorial service when Kutner got back, for friends and loved ones to pay their respects to the dead and give comfort to the grieving son, but it would have to wait. Until the danger had passed, there could be nothing of the sort. But Taub could not let these poor people be given over to the dust with no mourners at all. They deserved better than that. He stood in for Kutner, allowed himself to feel that grief for two good people who had been brutally cut down for no reason.

He hesitantly placed his hands on the handsome matching coffins which sat side by side on the burial biers, ready to be lowered into the ground upon the conclusion of the ceremony. "I'm sorry this is such a meager service," he said quietly, feeling slightly foolish. "It's not Kut-- it's not Lawrence's fault. You know what happened to him, why he can't be here now. He really wanted to be." Taub's heart tightened. "He loves you both so much. He's devastated that he can't be here, and I promise that as soon as it's possible, I'll bring him here to see you.

"I know you don't know me at all. But I just hope you know… Lawrence is a good man. Maybe the best that I know. That is thanks to you - you raised him well. You should be proud of him, and I'm sure you are." He paused and took a deep breath. "I promise you… we're going to take care of him. I will do whatever it takes to keep him safe. He'll be ok. He's not alone…" Taub trailed off. What else could he say? He felt so… speechless. He wasn't good with funerals in general, let alone for people he really didn't know. With a glance to the clergyman, he nodded and indicated that the graveside service could begin. He backed up and stood solemnly.

He heard the soft tread of footsteps behind him, and felt the soft touch on his back as the first words were intoned. He turned and saw Hadley beside him, and to his further surprise, Wilson was just behind her. He had told Wilson of his intentions yesterday during their talk, but he would have never thought the oncologist would come. He had not expected anyone else to show up… well, no one else really knew what was going on that morning. They exchanged no words, just nods of acknowledgement, and Taub noticed that Hadley carried two bouquets of white roses. _One for each, _Taub thought to himself, grateful that she had had the foresight to do that. _A woman would think of a detail like that; it didn't occur to me to get flowers for the graves. Kutner would appreciate that. _The three stood close together as the brief rite continued.

No one was aware of the additional witness to the occasion. If anyone had looked only three hundred yards away to the left, they would have seen the slim, nondescript man wearing sunglasses laying his own flowers on a tombstone. They would have had no possible way of knowing that the particular grave was that of a randomly selected stranger who had died in 1965, that the man merely wanted to unobtrusively observe the private proceedings, or that he was noting the presence of two coffins and not three.


	32. Chapter 32

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

Saturday morning had dawned clear and bright, though with rumors of a storm heading in that evening from the garbled, static-y weather report on the TV. Kutner had reluctantly acquiesced to House's suggestion to spend a little time outside in the sun, mainly to appease the man with the giant, swollen, purple lip. Deep down though, he felt like the reasoning House gave was a bit suspect. His exact words had been, _"You need to brown up a bit. Don't give me that look – I mean it. Right now you're paler than Taub… and that's just sad. From far away you look like nothing more than a white guy with a badly fading tan." _Which was utterly ridiculous. He was so **not** paler than Taub. For heaven's sake, even with the sickly pallor he currently sported he was still darker than everyone but Foreman. _House Hyperbole strikes once again, _Kutner thought indignantly with a roll of his eyes. It didn't cross his mind that perhaps House hoped to return him to PPTH in better condition than when he had left. Regardless of the argument, Kutner nonetheless had to agree that a little boost of vitamin D couldn't hurt him at this point, and soon found himself outside on the deck, reclining in a wooden beach chair with a pillow and a soft quilt tucked around him, shielding him from the remainder of the April chill. But the sun was steadily warming the earth in its morning ascent, and Kutner couldn't help but close his eyes and bask at the beautiful feeling of bright sunshine on his face. He felt the soreness and the tension, which had plagued him since he woke up, melt away. For the moment, he could forget the horror of the past week.

"So… do you like monster trucks?"

The random question snapped his eyes open. "What?" Kutner asked, looking askew at House, who sat comfortably in the other deck chair next to him, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"Given your penchant for destruction, I was just wondering. I know you like when things blow up. Do you also like when things get awesomely smooshed?"

_What on earth is he going on about? _"Um, I guess so… I don't know. I've never really seen monster trucks in action."

House nodded a little. "Hmm. You should go see them sometime. It's loud, it's shiny, it's messy - I think you'd like it." With that he resumed looking out to sea. _Well, what was that? _Kutner thought in confusion. _I know House likes the monster truck thing – God knows why, it doesn't exactly seem like something a guy like him would enjoy, but oh well. For a second, I actually thought he was getting ready to invite me to a monster truck rally with him and Wilson sometime when we get back. Weird. It just proves how warped my mind is right now. _Those thoughts sent him on a contemplation of what it would be like if and when they _did _return home. Would he have to go back to that apartment? He wasn't sure he wanted to, especially if what Wilson had told House was true – that his floor was permanently stained with his own blood. Nor did he want to live in Mom and Dad's house. Absolutely not, knowing what had happened there. There were so many practical things to think about, but he kept coming back to the fact that his parents would not be waiting for him when he got back. No more Sunday night dinners. No more Christmases or birthdays or Fourth of July barbecues. No more Dad threatening to bring out the home movies whenever he brought a girl home. No more phone calls, or those silly, loving little cards his mom would send to him from time to time – even though they just lived a couple of hours away, she knew he liked to get mail. No more feeling normal and accepted and loved, no matter what happened to him in his work life. No more hugs. No more safety net. His life was fractured. And he was terrified – not just of Donne, either. There was a separate fear residing in his heart, a fear of… well, perhaps life, of continuing to exist. And that was really frustrating, because Lawrence Kutner was not afraid of much.

Without thinking, he sighed. He was amazed that his eyes were still dry. But then again, maybe he had simply run out of tears for the week, especially after that debacle last night which had reduced him to the biggest basket case outside of the cuckoo's nest. But the look on his face did not go unnoticed by his boss. House frowned, because it was the same look he had seen last night – when he had noticed that Kutner was silently crying as he was reading to him. Kutner had the same expression now, but this time there were no tears. _At least not yet, _House thought. _He wouldn't tell me what was wrong last night. Maybe he'll tell me now. _"What's up?"

Kutner blinked. "What's up?" he repeated questioningly, not sure what House was asking about now.

"I mean, what are you thinking about? Where's your head right now?"

"On my neck," Kutner replied, in an effort to be flippant.

"_Kutner_…."

"No really! It's nothing… I was just thinking… I don't know how I can ever be normal again," Kutner murmured, finally verbalizing his true feelings. His voice wasn't sad, exactly; merely tired and defeated. There was no getting around the reality that his life was in shambles and he had not the foggiest idea how to go back to his old self. His actions from last night (forgiven or not) were completely foreign to him. It was just like yesterday, when he had seen himself in the mirror for the first time since his attack – he didn't recognize himself anymore. Where had the real Kutner gone? The confident, fun-loving, optimistic Kutner he had worked so hard to become… what had happened to him? He felt he was back to square one, the same messed-up kid he had been 22 years ago, and all the growth and progress he had made over the course of his life was all for nothing.

"Uh, I got news for you… you weren't normal to begin with," House said. His tone was not tinged with unkindness, though.

"Well, gosh, thanks, House. I needed that boost right now," Kutner said with flat sarcasm.

But now House looked at him with a serious gaze. "That wasn't a negative thing, Kutner. Not everything I say is an insult, you know." House looked away from him. "Who wants to be normal anyway? Why do you think I hired you in the first place?"

"I had hoped it was because I was a good doctor…" Kutner said, a bit confused.

"Pfff. Every one of those 40 candidates was technically a 'good' doctor. But for _my _team, I needed better than good, I needed someone interesting. Luckily, Number 9 was definitely not boring. Not like that Number 6." House said with a small tone of almost-fondness.

Kutner didn't quite understand, since he in fact had started out as Number 6. "What do you mean?" he asked, slightly wary.

"Number 6 wasn't around long enough for me to give a crap. I'm sure Number 6 was a competent doctor, a nice guy… but he just didn't get a chance to make much of an impression. Not his fault. Now, Number 9 on the other hand," House said with a smile playing on his lips, "Number 9 came in and started kicking butt and taking names. Number 9 was exactly what I had been hoping to find when I decided to hire all those people. I knew from that first case that he had clinched one spot on the team. Quite possibly the easiest decision I ever had to make."

"I just flipped my number upside down. 6 became 9. It was just a lucky coincidence that I got a number that could do that. They're the same person, House," Kutner said wearily. This was probably the closest thing to praise House had ever given him directly, or would ever give, but he was far too tired and unhappy to accept it for what it was.

"No, they're not the same. Number 6 was fired and left without protest, with his tail between his legs. When I tried to fire Number 9, he kept suggesting and diagnosing the whole way out the door. He showed his nerve, his audacity, and he made me take a second look. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He fought for it." House looked down at his hands. He suddenly felt rather exposed, speaking like this before his employee. Despite the metaphor he was using, there was none of his usual sarcasm to shield himself with, nothing to use as a buffer between his honest feeling and the young man he was addressing. But he had to make himself clear. "If you were to try to be 'normal' now… well, it would actually kind of be a step backwards, wouldn't it? You just need to find Number 9 again. He's in there… you're still that person, no matter what else has happened. Know what I mean?"

He looked at Kutner for affirmation. The younger doctor met his eyes briefly, and with the slightest of nods, turned his eyes back out to the sea. "Yeah. I get what you're saying. I just don't think it's that easy."

"Never said it was going to be easy. That's why I'm glad Number 9 is the one facing the challenge and not one of those other two people I hired – you know, Hot Bi-chick and What's-His-Nose. They'd both crumble under such a task. For Number 9, though, it's doable."

"You really think so?" Kutner said doubtfully.

"Trust me – you know I'm eventually right about things." House gave Kutner a confident, superior smirk.

"Well, I guess we'll see," Kutner said, noncommittally, and he kept looking outward at the ocean, appearing unmoved by House's generous praise. He still seemed immeasurably beaten down. _Oh, come on! I basically just patted him on the head and said he was my favorite fellow, what more can I do here?! _House thought to himself in frustration. _I had no idea it would be this tough to convince Kutner that life is worth living. A little hypocritical of me perhaps, but never once did I think he would be so entrenched in negativity. What can I possibly do to make him see that, yeah your parents are dead and it's going to suck for a long time, but it's not like you're alone; he has a lot of people that are going to help him. I'm not cut out for this - I'm great at kicking his ass and scaring him straight, but I suck at the comfort and the pep talks. Hmm. What would Taub do? ……. No. No. Oh crap….._

Kutner could see that House was starting to look uncomfortable, shifting his eyes everywhere but to him – like he was preparing to say something potentially explosive, and that was making Kutner nervous. _Oh no, what is he going to tell me now? _He braced himself for the worst. House finally muttered quietly, "So…. Are you, you know, going to need…like… a hug, or something?"

Kutner's eyes went wide. He wasn't entirely sure he had heard right, but all he could muster was a confused, "Whuh-?"

"I'm not really a huggy sort of person… that's not who I am," House continued gruffly, not meeting his eyes. "You know that and I know that and whatever. But I mean… you've been through a lot of crap, you know, and I know you feel all wrecked and junk… and I'm just saying… if, at some point, it would help…I mean, if it comes down to it and that is the _one_ thing that would _really _help you..."

"You're serious!" Kutner asked, incredulously. He hadn't meant to sound quite so astounded, but truly, he would have been less shocked if House had invited him to go to the moon. _Strange, I thought there'd be more of an obvious geological impact when hell froze over. _Surely this was just another manifestation of his stress – he was hallucinating, or he was asleep again, or something. That was the only way this would make sense. "You are, aren't you?"

"Well, erm…. I dunno… maybe, yeah. I guess I'm serious," House hemmed and hawed, shrugging. Kutner just gaped at him. It was clear the older man was not 100% enthusiastic about a physical demonstration of support, given the multiple half-excuses he had given, but the mere fact that he had offered – was WILLING – was nothing short of incredible. Kutner looked away quickly and House could see his shoulders trembling a bit. He heard a soft, breathy sound, and immediately thought, _Hell, I made him cry? I was just trying to help… it seemed like the thing Taub or even Wilson would do; I didn't mean to get him all upset again. _"Kutner, listen –" House began hesitantly. But when Kutner lifted his head, House looked at him in surprise. Kutner wasn't crying at all. Rather, he was giggling. Actually smiling and giggling! It was so unexpected that House wasn't sure whether to be offended. "Look, I know I'm not Mr. Rogers, but it's not THAT funny. It really was a legitimate offer. A simple 'no thanks' would suffice, you know," he grunted.

"Oh, House," Kutner sighed, still giggling, but trying to hold it in. "I'm sorry, it's not- it's not that I don't appreciate it, because I really do… you have no idea…" and his amusement surfaced again, turning his giggle into an honest laugh. "It's just… you looked so worried I might say yes!" He couldn't stop now. Laughter shook his sides, causing his stitches to stretch uncomfortably, but he didn't care. It felt so good to laugh at something. It had been so long – he hadn't been sure he'd ever be able to laugh at anything ever again. Once again, tears were forming in his eyes, but they were tears of laughter.

House studied him, perplexed. What the hell was going on here? Was Kutner going into hysterics? Did he need a slap in the face? It wasn't _that _funny, was it? The idea of House being touchy-feely… well, ok, maybe it was. He tried to ignore his own lips aching to twitch into a smile – that darn kid was always doing that to him. He would be trying to maintain his stoic, cold demeanor, but then Kutner would come out of nowhere and do or say something that would tickle his funny bone, and it was a herculean effort to not smile in response. But right now, he found himself growing amused too. _He's right, I wasn't thrilled with the idea – I didn't think that one through all the way. I guess I didn't cover it very well. No wonder he's laughing – it is pretty unlikely. _He wondered if it was a contact high, but the giddiness of his employee was contagious. "Okay then," he said, working hard to keep his composure. "I take this as a no. Is that a fair assumption?"

Kutner managed to nod through his laughter. Nearly delirious with the buzz of his endorphins, he tried to speak. "Would you have actually done it if I had asked?"

"Perhaps, but I guess we'll never know, will we?"

"Aw, House, I'm sorry. Don't be mad," Kutner begged, biting back his laughter. "Does someone need a hug?"

House snorted. "Don't even think about it. You've successfully burned that bridge." But he was smiling openly now.

"Know what would have been awesome?"

"What?" _Dare I even ask?_

"If we had had that hug when we got back home, in front of the team," Kutner said, his eyes dancing mischievously. "Can you imagine their faces?"

House could, and it was a delightful prospect. Wilson needed to be there to see it too, and maybe Chase and Cameron… he tried to picture everyone's reactions if he and Kutner were to share a solemn, comforting embrace. His resistance fell and he allowed his mouth to stretch further into a grin that was positively devilish. "Oh, God, that could yield some great things – even Foreman might crack a bit."

"I think Taub would need a crash cart." Kutner continued to laugh, and House finally allowed himself a chuckle, half in amusement and half in relief that Kutner was looking ahead to his future, when they would be going home. Even though they didn't know when it would occur, he was making a plan for their return. That was something positive, a glimmer of his old optimism shining through in spite of himself.

"Either that, or he would have me arrested for brainwashing you. Ok, this is too much," House stated, waving his hand. "It's official. As soon as we get back to Princeton-Plainsboro, we embark on the world's best freak-out – we hug in front of as many witnesses as possible. With straight faces. I might even be able to conjure up a tear."

"You'd really do that? Hug in front of everyone?" Kutner said in surprise. He had figured that, whether he accepted the hug or not, House would have made him swear to never breathe a word of it to ANYONE, under penalty of painful death by cane.

"If it screwed with people's heads? Yes. Yes, I just might," House smiled. For some reason, he really enjoyed playing pranks on Kutner – he had never really done anything of the sort with his previous team. Wilson, and occasionally Cuddy, were the ones who tended to get the brunt of his tricks. The syphilis game last year was for everyone, but Kutner was the one who figured out the case because of his prank. Of course, the little scene in the morgue last fall had been a crowning victory – not only was Kutner's reaction (and Taub's for that matter) utterly priceless, but he had born it gracefully in the aftermath. And ever since Kutner had essentially 'proven his worth' during the whole Deathcat case, House had been eager to work _with_ him on a prank of some sort. He had teamed up with others in the past on occasion, like Wilson and Chase. But he felt that Kutner could more than hold his own in mischief-making. Plus, it would be fun to have a partner-in-crime on his team, and he had been hoping for some time now that that partner would be Kutner. He had spirit…usually. He had guts. As long as it wasn't anything mean-spirited (Kutner was still too nice for anything truly biting) and didn't involve anything flammable, the potential was amazing. "Are you up for it?"

A moment's pause, and Kutner nodded. "It's a plan." And House fought to contain his delight at the grin that presented itself on Kutner's face. _Ah-hah, there you are, Number 9. I was hoping you'd show up. _

* * *

House entered the kitchen and started to pick out things for lunch. As he was spreading peanut butter on bread, Mac came in. "House, how's Dr. Kutner doing?"

"Making progress," House shrugged. It was nice that this cop was concerned about Kutner, but did he really need to know every detail of his mood? House would have preferred to be the sole guardian for Kutner, but he knew that was unrealistic in these circumstances. At least Mac was staying out of things as House had instructed.

"Listen, I just spoke with Tritter," Mac began hesitantly. House looked up from his sandwich preparation, though his hands did not waver in their activity. "I was updating him on our first day… and there's been a development back at Princeton."

"By the look on your face, I would guess this isn't a good development," House said with a furrowed brow.

"You sent a Dr. Wilson to retrieve personal items from Dr. Kutner's apartment on Thursday, correct?"

"Yeah. So?"

"Well, he wasn't the only visitor to the apartment." Now House ceased his lunch-making, his attention captivated.

* * *

Kutner allowed the sound of the waves to soothe his heart. He remembered the first time he had ever been to the ocean. It was his seventh birthday – he had lived with the Kutners for eight months. They took him to the Jersey shore for the weekend. He had been fascinated by the bigness of the ocean – the expanse of sea and sky. The horizon looked like the edge of the world; it seemed like if you ever reached that line, you'd fall off the earth. He remembered Mom (before she was Mom) cautioning him not to venture too far into the waves, worried as she was that a riptide would snatch the little boy away from the safety of the shallows. And later on, it was a family joke that he was the only one who never got sunburned when they went to the beach. He remembered how Dad was able to locate sharks' teeth buried in the sand – his eyes picking out a certain shade of black near the edge of the water, and on a good day finding five or six teeth of varying sizes. Kutner had tried on a couple of occasions, but somehow he could never find them as easily. It was like looking at a magic-eye picture – some people just couldn't do it, no matter how hard their eyes looked.

Suddenly, Kutner had the urge to venture down on to the sand and search for a shark's tooth. He wondered if House would object to him walking on the beach for a little bit. What could it hurt – he didn't feel he could go very far anyway, and the shore appeared deserted. He eased himself up out of his chair, wincing at the stiffness in his body, and started to go inside to ask his warden permission to take a walk. He stopped short as he heard House talking agitatedly to Mac from the kitchen.

"What do you mean? Does Donne know where we are?"

"He most likely does not know our location. But if he truly was watching Dr. Wilson at the apartment, then he possibly suspects that Kutner's no longer in the hospital."

"But we're safe, then?"

"Yes, we're about 98% certain on that front. Our main concern is that Donne might start profiling Dr. Kutner's friends – members of your team – in an effort to discover if he's recovering at someone's home."

"They're still in danger, then?"

"We have had to reevaluate the security surrounding everyone at the hospital. Tritter said Dr. Taub has sent his wife away for her safety, and there are surveillance units at everyone's respective homes, waiting for any sign of disturbance…"

Kutner's entire body went cold. He couldn't hear anymore. _Taub. Remy and Foreman. And Wilson, too. He's going after them… He knows I've escaped and he's looking for me at my friends' homes. Oh God… _He could feel that loud buzzing beginning in his head as he silently walked back to the deck, physically incapable of hearing anything else. He braced himself against his chair and tried to breathe through the tightness that was enveloping his chest. The sun was blinding, but he felt chilled to the bone. He could hear every beat of his heart and felt the blood thumping in his ears. _I left to protect everyone. I left so they would be safe, and it didn't make any difference! He could hurt them, kill them – all because of me. What have I done?_

As he stared out at the high surf, his eyes blurring, he suddenly felt eerily calm. Something apart from him, some thought or voice or entity whispered in his ear, _"You're not worth all this." _He didn't know where it came from, but the voice was correct. All this fuss, the turmoil he had put everyone through… He wasn't worth it. He would make this right. He would save them. That was his mindset as he walked off the deck and began to make his way over the dunes**…**

**To be continued...**


	33. Chapter 33

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

He saw himself trudging closer and closer to the water's edge. All he could think about was losing himself, disappearing into the depths of the roaring waves, falling off the edge of the earth. Disappearing would save everyone. He distantly heard himself gasp at the chill of the water, and as he walked further out he became vaguely aware of the sting of salt in his still-healing wounds. But he didn't care – none of it mattered. None of it even registered with him. He had gone numb. The surf was exceedingly high that day from the afternoon's approaching storm, and the swell knocked him down. He was submerged for a moment, and as he instinctively surfaced he was instantly thrown back down again by another wave. He felt his body drag on the ocean's floor, even as he tried to find his way back to the atmosphere.

* * *

House returned outside with two plates of food, but was surprised to see that Kutner had apparently gone for a walk. He could see him moving over the sand at a steady pace towards the water's edge. _Well, now, just what does he think he's doing? _House thought, perplexed, as he set down the plates. Did Kutner feel like getting his feet wet, just needing to move a bit? _He's in for a shock when he feels how cold that water is. The North Atlantic in early April is not exactly lukewarm… _House's confusion started to pickle into worry as Kutner reached the water and kept going, further and further. Then there was horror as he realized Kutner wasn't just walking. No pause to roll up his pants, no taking in of the scenery or the heavy cloud cover that was forming off shore, no acknowledgement of what had to be freezing water, no bracing against the powerful waves that were rolling in around him, threatening to take him out… There was nothing playful or therapeutic about this swim; it was a mission. He was on a death march. House began yelling Kutner's name, but the young man either was too far away to hear him, or wouldn't listen. Seeing no recognition, he changed tactics and began yelling for Mac as he struggled off the deck and onto the dune.

* * *

Repeatedly he was pummeled, and he felt himself being pulled even further out, into ever colder and deeper water. He could no longer feel the ground beneath his own feet. It occurred to him that every time he went under, he kept fighting his way back to the surface, even though he had expected, had planned, to drown. It was instinct versus intention, and self preservation was winning the day. As the waves continued to pound him back below the surface – maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the beating Mother Nature was giving him, or maybe it was the struggle to stay afloat – he suddenly felt hyper-alert. His mind was back in his own body once again, his disembodied exhilaration replaced by panic and confusion. _What am I doing out here? I can't breathe. _

* * *

_Damn it! Stupid beach! _House screamed inwardly in frustration, cursing his own handicap in addition to Kutner's foolishness as he attempted to limp cane-less over the sandy turf, which was doing its best to hinder him. Sweating, he was already breathing hard with the unusual exertion. He kept his eyes on Kutner, watching where the dark-haired head was in the expanse of the sea. _He's panicking… _House realized, as the lone figure started to thrash in the water. _Can he even swim? Sh*t…_

* * *

He wanted to turn around, go back to the shore. He had always been a capable but rather indifferent swimmer – he could get from point A to point B decently enough, but his speed and style were unremarkable. But the toll of his injuries, the bone-chilling cold that was settling into his limbs and constricting his chest, and his sudden shift into panic mode seemed to suspend his progress. He was sinking like a rock, and there was nothing to grab onto or set his foot upon. Now that he realized he had walked into the sea with intention of making it his fatal element, he changed his mind.

* * *

House watched as Kutner's head dipped below the swelling water, and it didn't reappear. _Crap - I can't get to him! Kutner, swim, dammit!! Come back up! I won't reach him in time – I'm not fast enough –my leg – by the time I manage to swim to him out there, it will be too late – I can't get him! I lost him! Come back up, Kutner!_

* * *

_What am I doing?! No, no, no, not like this. Not anonymously like this! I changed my mind; I don't want this to be it – I don't want to die alone and feeling myself drown! I don't want to just disappear and my body never be found. This isn't what they would want for me, no… no! No one will know what happened to me, Taub will never forgive me, House will be so pissed… God, please, I was wrong – don't let me die like this now! Not like this! Someone help me! _He couldn't hold his breath any more… he had to breathe…

TBC....


	34. Chapter 34

**Author's Note: **Been traveling quite a bit recently, but I realized I just kind of left poor Kutner out there floating like a lost buouy (hugs Kutner!). So now that I am back to stay for a bit, I am returning to the story with new zeal. Hope there's still some readers left who haven't given up hope on me. :)

Chapter Thirty-Four

Burning pain shot through his body as saltwater forced its way from his lungs and into his throat. Suddenly he was brought back to excruciating awareness as he retched and coughed, and he felt himself being turned to the side in order to allow him to expel the unwelcome liquid without aspirating. He would have never thought anything could hurt as badly as being shot, but this came pretty close. Even after he had stopped vomiting water, he still continued to cough uncontrollably. The last thing he was able to remember was sinking in the ocean, too cold to swim for his life, desperate for a breath. Now he was lying on the damp sand, just beyond the reach of the tide, and despite his fervent desire to do so, he could not seem to take in a deep breath from the sweet clean atmosphere. His body felt utterly numb, heavy, frozen, and he was unable to turn himself back over without the assistance of those unseen hands. As he let his body be moved, he was momentarily blinded by the brightness of the sun in his salt-irritated eyes. He squeezed them shut against that white hot light as he gasped. A shadow seemed to darken the back of his stinging eyelids, and he blearily opened his eyes again. Peering down at him with those familiar electric blue irises was House, appearing for all the world like an archangel with the sun haloing behind him. As he continued to convulse with hacking, he felt his boss's long hands on either side of his head, preventing much movement while House stared hard into his eyes, an unreadable expression on his face. Did he think there was a head or neck injury to be evaluated? Kutner wanted to say that his neck was fine, he just couldn't breathe. But he was coughing too much to speak. House shook his head and Kutner thought he heard him say, "Idiot," but with House's hands covering his freezing water-logged ears, he wasn't totally sure. Then House addressed Kutner's soaking-wet guardian angel who turned out to be Officer McNugget. "We have to get him inside – his lips are already blue."

The two men pulled him up. This wasn't as easy as it should have been; Kutner's legs almost immediately buckled underneath him and he had to rely on his saviors to support him. Kutner couldn't stop shaking violently as they slowly made their way over the sand. Their progress was hindered partly to the difficulty the terrain posed to House's bad leg, and partly due to the fact that Kutner's own legs weren't under his command, not to mention that breathing still posed something of a difficulty for him. The knot of men finally staggered into the cottage, and at House's orders Kutner was taken up to the bathroom. There was no bathtub in the house, so Mac stuck him into the shower, and House turned on the water. He was careful to make sure the water wasn't scalding, but Kutner was far too cold to be aware of the difference. The hot drops still stung his icy skin regardless. Numb as he was, he definitely felt that, and moaned involuntarily – hot showers weren't supposed to hurt like that, were they? He was dimly aware of the men speaking low to each other, of Mac leaving the room and of House standing in the shower with him, getting as wet as he was.

"Get your clothes off," he commanded. Kutner looked at him, dazed and not understanding. "You don't get any privacy now – not after a stunt like that. You're hypothermic – you have to get warmed up. You know the drill. Clothes. Now." House reached down and pulled Kutner's cold T-shirt up and over the young man's head. He tossed it to the corner of the shower. "Kutner, stand up." But he didn't seem able to process what House wanted. Frustrated beyond all patience, House finally gave up asking. _You want something done, you have to do it yourself, _he grumbled to himself as he carefully eased himself onto the floor of the shower. The last thing he needed was to slip and fall in here with Kutner so completely out of it.

House inched over to the shivering kid, the hot shower stream pelting him too, and averting his eyes to preserve what was left of Kutner's modesty, pulled off the salt-soaked sweatpants he wore. Kutner didn't fight him off, since he didn't have the strength, but curled tighter into himself, obviously chilled to the bone and mortified to be seen in such a vulnerable state. In the back of his clouded mind, he understood that House was a doctor and so was he. The human body was the human body – his clothes would have been taken from him in a hospital setting as well in the same situation. And he had never been ashamed of his body before – he had even streaked at a football game once on a dare during his undergrad days. But it wasn't exactly the nakedness of his damaged body that shamed him now, it was the nakedness of his soul. He was raw, shivering, exposed – with his failed attempt to drown himself there was no more pretense, no more denying that he was a coward. House could see his weakness now, plain as day. If it had been anyone else – Taub, Hadley, even Foreman – it wouldn't have been quite so horrible. But no. House was all he had. And House saw all, and would never let you forget it. Kutner coughed again, unable to suppress it as his lungs rejected the little residual water that still remained in his system.

House sat with him on the floor of the shower for a little while longer, silent, not looking at him. Finally, as he felt the water begin to cool from running too long, he reached up and turned off the faucet. He didn't want to risk falling inside the glass-enclosed space, so he crawled out onto the bathmat and carefully pulled himself up by gripping the counter around the sink. He was as wet as his employee, but he didn't care; the main thing right now was to get Kutner warm. The yelling would come after that. _And oh, boy, am I gonna yell! _House thought grimly, grabbing a large bath towel for Kutner. He was just about to throw it into the shower and command him to dry off, when he fully took in the sight of the young man curled tightly in a ball on the tile floor and still shivering mightily, the spasms punctuated every so often with a cough. He had no idea why, but for some reason a memory came unbidden to him.

_He was twelve. He had once again disobeyed his father, then mouthed off about it, refusing to apologize. For his punishment, he was made to sit for five minutes in an ice bath. This had been done before, but never for quite so long. And five minutes was a __**very **__long time when you were in that much agony. His teeth were chattering so hard he thought his jaw would break. Five aching, awful frozen minutes he sat there, refusing to cry as his limbs seized up. It had been a miracle he hadn't had a heart attack. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing him unmanned. When the time was up, he couldn't even stand up to get out of the bath; instead, he used his arms to heave himself over the side of the tub, slithering onto the floor. He was completely numb, naked and shivering, his skin pale and fingers purple. He just wanted to get warm, but he couldn't make his body move, couldn't get a towel which he so desperately wanted to wrap up in. Finally, his father threw one at him, then left the room so he could dry off. Only then did he allow himself to cry, even as his heart hardened further towards John House._

_Where did that come from?! Why the hell am I thinking about that? _House wondered, aghast. It was only because he could see Kutner, bare, cold and pale, his stitched wounds in raw relief against his skin, in roughly the same humiliated, vulnerable position that he had seen himself in within that memory. Somehow, he couldn't stop mulling over the two images as he unconsciously rejected the idea of throwing the towel to Kutner. Instead, he found himself once again getting down on the floor of the shower and gently putting the towel over Kutner himself._ Now to get us out of here. _"Kutner, you have to stand up now." When his mortified duckling did not respond, House struggled to keep his tone as even as he could without losing either his authority or his cool. "Kutner, I can't pick you up. There's nothing for me to hold onto in here. Either you stand up by yourself, or I'll have to call McNugget back in here and he'll carry you out. How much do you want him to see?" That must have reached Kutner's brain, for he clutched the towel tighter around himself and began to crawl to the shower door. Just as House had done, he wobbily pulled himself up by bracing against the toilet and then the sink. House followed him, and when both were on their feet, House said, "Can you walk to your room?" Kutner nodded slightly, still silent, and shakily shuffled his way into his bedroom. House was at his elbow, spotting him to keep him from falling. He sat Kutner on the bed and rummaged around for some clothing for him, something that would be warm and comfortable. "Put these on," he grunted, handing the dazed man his garments. As Kutner stared blankly, House said with the slightest trace of frustration, "I am not going to dress you. Go ahead; I won't look at you, but I am not leaving you alone either." Kutner slowly began to fumble with his clothes, his hands moving about eight seconds behind the commands his brain was trying to give them.

House stood tensely to one side, looking at the floor. He had plenty of choice words that he wanted to hurl at his employee right then, but he bit his tongue with every ounce of composure he possessed. _No. Not until I calm down and I give him a thorough physical examination. It's bad enough I let him go rogue; if he's damaged himself with his stupid little stunt, I'm not going to miss it because I was reading him the riot act and was too angry to see it. If he's hurt, I won't miss it. I won't…_

After having changed into dry clothes himself, Mac was busy downstairs. House had been worried about hypothermia, so he had turned up the heat inside the cottage and was building a fire in the seldom-used fireplace. Frankly, he was a bit chilled from his impromptu swim as well, so the heat was welcome. His mind was focused on his tasks, but he could not put the scene he had just experienced out of his mind. When he had retrieved Dr. Kutner from the waves and dragged him onto the shore, he had been unresponsive and not breathing. He was trained in CPR and basic first aid, but he had not had the chance to use those skills here. The moment he had laid Kutner's body on the sand, House had shoved him to the side and frantically begun resuscitation himself, not even acknowledging Mac's presence. Mac had shivered silently, shocked at the older man's speed, and even more so at the tirade that escaped his lips while he tried to coax Kutner's lungs to work, pausing only to provide his own breath for assistance. House had loudly berated the unconscious "idiotic" doctor, practically screaming at him with words unrepeatable to start breathing right this minute or he was "so incredibly, irrevocably fired." The moment Kutner finally took a breath and began to cough up the water he had inhaled, Mac had felt palpable relief. And as House had carefully turned Kutner to the side to prevent him from choking, it had not escaped the cop's notice that he had hurriedly reached up to wipe his face with his shirt. Perhaps he had been wiping away sand or sweat… but perhaps not.

Half an hour later, as the first rumbles of thunder began for the incoming storm, House and Kutner, both in dry clothing, were downstairs as well. House stoically settled Kutner as comfortably close to the fireplace as possible so that he might get full benefit of the glowing warmth. Despite being dry and with a significantly better pallor, he still shivered uncontrollably. House examined him thoroughly, probing and testing, listening carefully to Kutner's lungs, taking his temperature more than once, and checking the reactivity of his pupils. He did not speak except to ask if something hurt as he probed, or to command Kutner to do something. And Kutner, for his part, was quietly obedient. He was coherent, but still rather shell-shocked over what he had done, and now was growing steadily terrified of the ramifications of his actions. _Why isn't House yelling at me? I know he wants to – I can see it in his eyes. Come on, House, just get it over with. I can't take this tension much longer. Oh man, he's really going to kill me, isn't he? _He knew he was in DEEP trouble, so he did whatever his boss asked him to do as he tried to think how he could explain himself. But House seemed to be biding his time before clobbering him. He studied the pattern of the quilt he was wrapped in and tried to control the coughing that kept sneaking out of his throat.

During the physical exam, Mac had taken the liberty of both retrieving House's cane from the sand, carelessly flung aside when he had begun pursuing his employee, as well as preparing hot beverages for all of them. As he stood nervously in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen, unsure of where he fit in to the situation, House grimly came toward him to get the drinks. "House, does he need a hospital or something?" Mac asked quietly, looking toward the passive young man by the fire with trepidation. He actually didn't want to believe that this nice young man had been trying to drown himself. He deeply wanted it to be a mistake, a misunderstanding, an overreaction on both their parts. He got the feeling House felt the same way.

"We've staved off the hypothermia – his temperature's returning to normal. So there's just the 'attempting suicide' part to worry about," House answered with an exasperated shake of his head. "He needs to be watched carefully, but I don't think he'll try again. He was panicking out there… I saw it. He was trying to come back. He almost succeeded and he changed his mind at the last minute. That happens more times than you'd think with suicides. Unfortunately, sometimes they change their minds too late. I think he scared himself too badly…" House rubbed his neck as he trailed off. "Just out of curiosity, how close _is _the nearest hospital?"

"There's a small medical clinic in town – they deal with minor issues, severe sunburns, jellyfish stings, heatstroke – but they have to airlift the really severe emergency cases to neighboring hospitals. The nearest ER is about an hour away by car."

"Terrific. Hell, we might as well go back to Princeton-Plainsboro if that's the case," House snapped. Inwardly he sent scathing thoughts back to Princeton: _Thanks a lot, Tritter. I risk Kutner's health by taking him out of PPTH and you can't even send us somewhere with a real damn hospital? You better hope I don't have access to a rectal thermometer the next time I see you…_

"Do we need to do that?" Mac asked again, intently. "I'm serious, House; does Dr. Kutner need an emergency room, or medical care you can't give to him here?"

"I… I don't think so," House hedged. But his confidence was shaken by the ordeal, and he was mentally rebuking himself. _I thought I did everything right! I locked up the pills, I got rid of the silverware, I kept my gun out of his reach… I thought of everything – except the damn ocean! I didn't see the huge deathtrap right outside the back door. It's an ocean, for crying out loud – it's not like it was hidden. I focused on the usual methods, and I missed the unusual ones. __**I **__missed the unusual methods...of course KUTNER would do something unexpected. He's so predictable that way. Dammit! _He had already been wrong about so many things – wrong to think that Kutner was no longer suicidal, wrong to leave him alone for five minutes, wrong to think that the worst was over. Suddenly he wasn't sure he would know the right thing to do. He had doubts and that made him angriest of all. "His immune system isn't 100% right now – he's barely a week off of major surgery and he caught a minor infection from that. I guess there's a slight risk of him developing pneumonia or another infection from the cold and the residual fluid in his lungs, but that's not a given. It's treatable with antibiotics. But if he does get sick, those are antibiotics I don't have. In that event, we would either have to get him to a hospital, or else find a way to obtain the antibiotics and bring them here. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, if we come to it at all. I can't think about that right now. I've been holding back since we pulled him out, and now I have a few choice words I need to say," he grumbled as he snatched the cup of tea and headed back towards Kutner by the fire.

House wordlessly handed Kutner the warm mug, noticing that his hands still trembled from the inward chill he had not shaken off just yet. Kutner had his ashamed puppy look, and his lips were on the verge of forming his explanation when House abruptly held up his hand. "No, uh-uh. I don't want to hear it. Not until I get a few things off my chest." House started to pace the floor, his cane thunking as he moved. His leg was on fire with spasms, but he was too angry to remember that he could easily take a Vicodin for his pain. "Of all the stupid, selfish, crazy… _Arg_, I have been trying to think of what to say to you for the past hour. I am very rarely speechless, but this… you know, I actually think that if you were to tell me you just went for a therapeutic swim that got out of hand, I would want to believe you. I really would. That should tell you something. Only problem is, we both know better. I mean, only an idiot would voluntarily decide to go for a swim just days after surgery in which a friggin' _organ _was removed, with fresh stitches in their skin. And only an idiot would do something like that in rough surf… in early April… in the North Atlantic! And whatever else I may say or have said in the past, you are not an idiot, Kutner. You behaved unbelievably idiotically today, but the fact is you are not an idiot. You knew exactly what you were doing. I know you did."

House gave an awkward angry chuckle as he looked up at the ceiling in frustration, as if to say to the god he didn't believe in, _Seriously?_ "I just have to give you props for creativity. I mean, drowning… that's definitely unique. It's less messy than some of the other methods you could have chosen, considering I made sure you wouldn't have access to those methods. There's a nice retro vibe to drowning. Very _A Star is Born-_esque. However, I really do not appreciate being cast as Judy Garland in this scenario. And no, I am not going to explain that reference to you if you don't know what I'm talking about – you can google it some other time. I would just very much like to know…" House swallowed, because as much as he wanted to know the reason, he was afraid of the reason. "What did I do wrong?" he said quietly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Did I say or do something to make you do this?"

Kutner was horrified. "No! House, you didn't do anything wrong! It wasn't you at all!" he pleaded, his eyes wide. Oh, he never meant for House to feel guilty for this. He truly didn't think his boss would do that – he had been certain House would blame him and him alone for being a coward. Except he had been too cowardly to take the coward's way out, so what on earth did that make him now?

"Sorry if I'm not entirely convinced by that," House snapped. "I know I'm a jerk, I know I'm abrasive. I always wind up saying the wrong thing, even when I'm really trying not to. I was the last person to talk to you, and I thought that you were fine. Or at least, you know, okay. I never would have left you by yourself if I had had any indication that you were that upset. I thought that, you know, we were getting comfortable. You actually laughed today, for God's sake! I know that was sincere. Then less than half an hour later you're a manatee! How do you go from that sort of laughter to trying to drown yourself in so short a time, unless something triggered it? I left you alone for _five minutes_. I was less than 30 feet away during that time. I have to know, Kutner – what could have possibly changed in those five…" House trailed off as a theory occurred to him. Kutner saw that familiar explosion of realization color House's eyes, and he knew that House had figured out his motivation.

"You heard us talking in the kitchen." House stated flatly. Mac's face fell with dismay as he realized that, with his desire to keep House updated on the investigation and the status of his other employees, he had unwittingly contributed to Kutner's meltdown.

Kutner nodded, his eyes downcast. House was silent for a moment. Then he said, with an edge to his voice, "So instead of confronting us and getting the whole story, you let yourself wig out over a snippet of conversation you were eavesdropping on from one room away? Let me guess: you latched on to the part about Donne looking for you by profiling the team, and in another demonstration of your annoyingly overblown concern for others, you decided to save them by removing yourself from the equation."

"I – I know you're pissed…" Kutner whispered.

"You're damn right I'm pissed!" House yelled. And he really was too. "If that isn't the understatement of the year! The irony is amazing – that you would act so selfishly out of a selfless notion. Unbelievable!" He kicked an end table by one of the chairs, and Kutner winced as it fell over with a clatter. "God." It was a whisper, but something within the timbre of that whisper made Kutner look up. At first he thought it was a genuine invocation of a deity, which would be odd indeed coming from House the eternal atheist. House was standing with his back to him, his hand bracing himself on the mantelpiece. His shoulders could very well have been supporting the weight of the entire planet, from the way they slumped. "God, Kutner," he whispered again. "We had a deal." Kutner wished the man would face him so he could put a tone with the words. He needed to see House's face, because right now it almost sounded like his feelings were hurt.

"We had a deal, you and me. Rule number five – I told you, if you started feeling like… like _that… _you were supposed to tell me. And I was going to help you. But you didn't. Why the hell didn't you say anything to me? Did you think I wouldn't listen? Do you honestly believe I care so little when it comes to your life?" House finally turned to face him and Kutner saw his eyes – so filled with hurt, so anguished. Where he had expected boiling-hot anger, there was just profound distress. They were just so full.

"No. House, it wasn't about you. I never meant for you to think that. I'm sorry…" he whispered, utterly chastised. But House interrupted him.

"I don't want to hear apologies, Kutner. I'm glad you're sorry – you should be sorry! But if you're only apologizing for how you've made me feel , that's not what I want to hear from you. I want you to be sorry that you tried to kill yourself! That's kind of a big deal, you know? What if no one had been around to pull you out, hmm? I saw you out there, the way you started struggling – you changed your mind at the last minute, didn't you? It was a damn good thing you didn't have to depend on me to rescue you, because I wouldn't have made it to you in time." With a pang, Kutner realized that with his actions, he had also made House acutely aware of his handicap, of his physical limitations, and who knew much pain House had caused himself while running to save him? Shame filled him further as he suddenly considered that for the first time in their acquaintance, he had unwittingly thrown House's crippled leg in his face, mocking him without intending to.

"What did you expect me to do if you drowned?" House continued softly. "Was I just supposed to go back to the team and tell them, 'Whoops. Sorry, guys, he found my one weakness – loosely packed sand. But he was only thinking of you - oh well?' You really think that the purity of your motives would make it okay? God, Kutner!" He rubbed his eyes in frustration as he groaned, and he sat heavily in one of the chairs. He rubbed his thigh aggressively, trying to massage the spasms away.

"I couldn't do it." Kutner murmured. "You're right. I tried. But I got out there and when it came right down to it… I didn't want to die."

"Well, you did, you know. Temporarily, at least. You weren't breathing when McNugget pulled you out. And all because you heard a snatch of conversation and panicked."

Kutner gave a small nod and muttered something House couldn't hear. "Speak up," House demanded.

"I said, I know I was panicking, but I actually felt really calm. It was like I was out of my body," Kutner repeated remorsefully. "Like I heard a voice outside myself that said I had to do this."

"A voice? Do you mean, like an auditory hallucination?" House furrowed his brow. _If Kutner was hallucinating, this whole thing could just be the result of him being sick… _Maybe he was grasping at straws, but if there was a chance that Kutner's suicide attempt was related to something medical, then he would take it gladly. He was comfortable with the physical, not the mental, not the emotional. But his bizarre hope was dashed as Kutner shook his head.

"No… I wasn't hallucinating. It just seemed like it was something separate from my own thoughts, telling me… that I wasn't worth all this trouble," Kutner hung his head. Despite his change of heart, he still believed what that little voice had said. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. But I'm not worth it."

"Oh yeah. You're _so_ not worth it. Of course. That's why Chase and Taub spent hours in the OR working to save your life. That's why Taub sat with you hour after hour, refusing to go home to a warm bed and a hot wife. It's why we made the effort to move you to a safe location. It's why I risked the fury of my employees AND my boss and made the command decision to come along to take care of you. It's why I was actually reasonably _polite _to Michael Tritter, the Ghost of Jerk-offs Past. It's certainly why I, in all my straightness, wound up giving you the friggin' kiss of life out there a little bit ago. Because you weren't worth it. For crap's sake!" House sputtered sarcastically. "Kutner, there are a lot of people who are not worth this sort of trouble. About 99.9% of the world's population isn't worth this trouble. _I _am not worth the trouble. But you are one of the few who are!"

House exhaled noisily, and took a moment to regain his composure. He was getting way too emotional here. He attempted to keep his voice even as he continued, determined to be as honest as he could, to show Kutner that he did understand… "I know you feel uncertain, and you're scared for yourself and for your friends, and maybe it seemed like the easy way out. Life is miserable and you don't know where you'll find yourself. You think, I could just die, just let go, and then my pain will be over and everyone will probably be better off. Maybe for some people that's true. But not for you, Kutner. No one would be better off without you. Trust me," House said with more sincerity than Kutner had ever witnessed. "Living in misery sucks marginally less than dying in it. When you're dead, you're dead. End of story. At least if you're alive, there's a slight chance it could get better, a possibility to be less miserable."

Kutner was silent for a moment, thinking, processing. He lifted his head and looked at House steadily. "Have you ever tried?" he asked quietly. It was such an innocent question, yet it bore such a weight. There was no malice in his asking, only probing interest. House had spoken with far too much conviction to have never walked down that dark road himself. "I'm not talking about whatever that was with the knife in the wall socket last year. I don't know what that was about. It was weird to page Amber beforehand if you had really planned on dying, but then again, there are no guarantees when your heart stops. I'm talking about really just wanting to end it; a conscious desire to let go. Have you ever wanted to? Has the pain ever been that unbearable?"

House went dumb. He had no idea how to answer such a question. His first instinct was to brush it off. But he kept thinking, _Sometimes I wonder if that's the motivation for half the crap I do. I mean, yeah, sure I've thought about it on occasion. Right after the infarction, I wished for death. But that's because I was in ridiculous, excruciating pain. The greatest lover of life would have begged for death in that instance, and I at least got a coma out of the deal. That's close, I guess, without the permanence. Then Stacy left me, and I guess I could have wanted to die then, but I still had Wilson. And Cuddy, I guess. And the job. There was that time at Christmas… But I can't tell him about this. Can I? I still don't really know if I really meant to die that night. I was so high, I don't know if I cared enough by that moment… _He started to deflect, ready to dismissively mutter, "Everyone thinks about it at some point." But another voice spoke before he could.

"I've wanted to."

Both House and Kutner's heads turned to Mac, who had spoken while leaning against the doorway, as casually as if he were talking about sports. Both men had nearly forgotten the quiet young cop was still present. And now that he had contributed such information to their conversation, they were startled. Mac took in their surprise, and drifted in from the doorway, coming a little closer to them in the center of the room. It seemed that with that admission, he had received an unspoken invitation to finally participate to the discussion. So he braced himself to relate the story that still pained him every time he told it. If it would help this young man, he would hash it out again.

"Four years ago, my partner Charlie and I were pursuing a suspect in our squad car, and we wound up being run off the road. The car went down a ravine. I was thrown from the vehicle. I sustained several hard-core injuries – fractured pelvis, broken arm, cracked sternum, ruptured spleen… I was knocked out for like, two seconds – I came around really quick, but I was in bad shape. Charlie was still pinned in the car. I don't know how he did it, but he was conscious the whole time. He couldn't get out and I couldn't move to try to get him out. He was able to radio for help… and then, with no warning… the squad car exploded." Mac paused for a moment to breathe. House looked down at his cane in discomfort. Kutner did not take his eyes off of Mac, eyes that were wide and beginning to glimmer with tears. "I was in shock – I tried to crawl towards the car, thinking maybe I could still get him out, but I couldn't move more than a few feet before I passed out again. When I woke up in the hospital ER, I knew he was gone. I pray to God that he died at the moment of that explosion. I can't bear to think that he suffered while the car burned…"

Mac looked at Kutner intently. "For a cop, the relationship with your partner is a very heavy thing. It involves the deepest possible level of trust. You're putting your life on the line every day, so you have to have that trust, that bond with the people you work with. Firefighters and soldiers have the same sort of code. You always have your partner's back, and he will always have yours. We take care of each other out in the field. I was so lucky – Charlie was like an older brother to me on the force. He took me under his wing when I joined up; I knew his family… we hung out together when we weren't on duty. I was closer to him than to my actual biological brother. So, losing him like that… I felt like I had let him down. I broke the code – I couldn't save him. I didn't really even attempt to save him. It all happened so fast; one minute he was talking to me, trying to keep me awake, and the next thing I knew there was a fireball… I probably couldn't have gotten him out anyway, as injured as I was, but I wasn't even able to try.

"I spent close to a month in the hospital, undergoing various surgeries and therapy, but I refused to see any visitors. I felt certain that every cop on the force knew what a failure I was – the young, green newbie survives and the decorated hero dies. I couldn't even go to his funeral. I left the hospital but I neglected my P.T. sessions; I resigned from the unit, because I couldn't bear the thought of going back there with all those memories, of having everyone looking at me with pity or disgust or whatever my paranoia would call it. I didn't want to have Charlie replaced by some other person who I would probably also inadvertently get killed. I started drinking pretty heavily, and since I was on mega-pain meds from the surgeries, I don't need to tell you that I was pretty messed up 24/7. Five weeks after I got out of the hospital, I went on a major bender, and it ended with me on the bathroom floor with my off-duty gun aimed at my head. I had failed as a cop, as a friend… I thought that I had failed at life."

"What stopped you?" House asked, intrigued that this seemingly put-together, normal guy would react that way to pain. He had suffered just like Kutner… _and me too, _House thought, thinking again of that Christmas, the one where he had downed shot after shot, pill after pill…

"It was crazy… Right as I had steeled myself to pull the trigger, there was a knock at the door of my apartment. I had no plans on answering the door, but I put the gun down to go see who it was, just so I would know who I was ignoring. It was Beth… Charlie's widow. I had not seen her while I was in the hospital – she was so occupied with her kids and making sure Charlie was buried in his hometown in Illinois. She had called a couple of times, but I never picked up the phone. But now she was beating down the door and yelling at me to let her in. I couldn't ignore her – my inaction had cost her her husband of 16 years. Much as I didn't want to face her, I thought I owed it to her to let her take whatever revenge she wanted before I ended my life. Maybe if I handed her my gun, she would do the deed for me. So I let her in."

"And?"

"Oh, she was pissed at me all right. But not for the reason I thought. I guess she had heard that I had resigned, and I wasn't going to physical therapy anymore. She didn't come there to berate me for causing her husband's death," Mac leaned forward to emphasize his point. "She was angry at me for shutting down, for wallowing in my grief and my guilt. Charlie was driving the car, and the suspect was the one who ran us off the road. I had nothing to do with it. She said, 'Charlie made sure you would be alright before he died. All that effort to save a life you refuse to live! How dare you throw that away! That's the biggest slap in the face to his memory I've ever seen.' She really let me have it." Mac gave a small smile. "She was right, too. After a few hours of her yelling and both of us crying, I agreed to sober up and go to therapy, and she took me back to the hospital that night. I don't know why she picked that night to come over, or why she knocked on the door at that moment, just as I had taken the safety off the gun. I'll never know that, I imagine. But I thank God she did. Now, it still makes no sense to me why one of us had to die that day, or why it had to be Charlie. I will never understand why I was thrown clear of the vehicle and he was not. But I understand that if I were to end my life, it would not bring him back. Nothing would be solved, and I would wind up causing more pain to the people who love me, which wound up being more in number than I ever guessed. I still have purpose in this life – to protect and serve."

"Dr. Kutner, I know you have friends that care deeply about you, too," Mac went on with a sideways glance to House, who didn't notice. "You may think that your death will solve the problem of their safety. I can understand the sentiment, and I can even admire the feelings behind it, but I'm afraid that's very naïve. This guy – he's a murderer, pure and simple. Maybe he would move on if he knew you were dead… but maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would continue to kill, more and more innocent people, perhaps even your friends. You don't know why he targeted you, so who knows what would satisfy him?" Kutner furrowed his brow. He was right – Kutner had made an assumption that if his death was achieved, Donne would have no more reason to hang around. As much as he had been considering his friends, he had not considered the rest of the people in the world who could become Donne's next obsession. Mac went on quietly, "And what would your parents want for you? I don't think they would be very happy if you threw away your life."

"No. I thought of that…." Kutner hedged, recalling his panicked thoughts in the surf. His parents – all of them, adoptive and biological – would have been so disappointed in him…

"Don't you want justice for them? Don't you want justice for yourself?" He put a strong hand on Kutner's shoulder. "If you want that, and if you really want to save your friends and perhaps a whole host of other innocent people, YOU have to be the one who puts him away. You were the one who was spared, and you can question that all you like, but that means that you can be the one who makes it possible for him to pay for his crimes. But if you go through your days assuming that your survival was a mistake by whatever power you believe in… if you act as judge, jury and executioner over yourself when you've committed no crime, you'll never move past these feelings. Then the bastard wins. We can't have that, now, can we?"

He sat back again, as Kutner bowed his head, processing what Mac had said. He gave a small nod. "I know you're right. I really do. I realized as I was drowning… my parents wouldn't want me to kill myself. I _do _have people who care about me. I made a promise to one of them that I nearly broke today." He thought of Taub. Taub, who had stubbornly stayed by his side, who had fretted and worried and comforted him as his psyche spiraled out of control, whom he had trusted to take care of his parents' final needs. He had promised he would try to be strong. He had promised Taub that he would be ok. And he had almost broken his word with his suicide attempt. He imagined House giving Taub the news that he had died – Taub's face looking stunned and stricken, then disappearing behind his wall, hardening himself, never to let any sign of feeling show through ever again. _He would try to act like it wasn't affecting him, _Kutner thought. _He would be so angry at me for betraying him and breaking my promise. Especially since I know how he feels about suicide. He'd never be able to forgive me. He would blame House for not taking care of me, he would blame himself for not being here, thinking he could have prevented it… I know him, I know what he would be going through. I can't believe I almost hurt him so badly. _"I just… feel kind of, I don't know… out-of-control. Helpless, I guess. I really thought I was doing the best thing at the time. But I couldn't go through with it, and I'm really trying not to feel like a failure in that regard. But now I honestly don't know what I'm supposed to do next. What do you do when you've tried to end your life and you don't succeed?"

"You take it one day at a time and focus on your own healing, and you let us handle safety issues, for you and for your friends" Mac replied softly. "Listen, I know a great group – they actually focus on survivors of traumatic incidents. I went regularly for almost two years after my accident, and I still drop in from time to time. In my line of work, I see a lot of bad stuff, and you try to stay as detached as you can. But there have been times when a victim has really gotten to me. Or when we lose another man from the squad. That's when I need to reach out and touch base with people who understand what I'm going through. I think it would be good for you. Your friends will be there for you, but sometimes they can't quite wrap their heads around what this kind of event does to you… that feeling of guilt. When we get back to Princeton, I would be happy to take you to a meeting."

"Ok, maybe…" Kutner said hesitantly. He wasn't 100% sure he wanted to talk about all of this with a room full of total strangers. It was hard enough talking about it with people he knew, to know that his friends would forever be looking at him with saddened, sympathetic faces, tiptoeing around him and expecting him to crumble at the slightest thing. _Of course, I'm not making a big case for myself given what I just tried to do today. _It was deeply personal – not just this loss but his earlier ones as well, which were now haunting him anew with the supposed connection between the murderers. Plus, it was simply too soon to plan a strategy of therapy for 'when they got back to Princeton.'

"No maybes about it," House grunted. "We'll have to address your therapeutic pursuits later unfortunately, but whoever you do that therapy with is going to sign off on your stability before you can come back to work."

"So… you're not firing me?" Kutner meekly inquired, looking at his hands.

"You must still be waterlogged. Do you think I would have bothered resuscitating you if I was just going to fire you? Use your head a little." House sniffed.

"Are… are you going to… tell the team what I did?" Kutner asked quietly.

House rubbed his forehead and paused a moment before speaking. "Technically this could fall into the realm of doctor-patient confidentiality. So… no. I won't tell them. If you want anyone on the team to know, they'll have to hear it from you. However, if at any point it becomes medically relevant, then I will bring it up myself, for the sake of your health." House was sincere enough, but he was already thinking ahead to the possibility of Kutner getting sick from his little swim. If it became necessary to re-hospitalize him in such an event, then he might need to disclose how he got sick in the first place.

"Thank you, House. Really, thank you," Kutner said humbly, relieved that he didn't have to worry about House publicly disclosing to the world at some inopportune time that he had tried to drown himself. But House looked at him sternly.

"But you can't forget that you are currently up to your neck in deep doo-doo. You DID try to break my most important rule. Therefore, you must be punished." He sounded ominous enough, but the truth was his mind was spinning frantically to come up with an appropriate 'punishment.' He had been so certain that Kutner was too scared of him to even consider going against his demands, he hadn't thought much beyond the rules themselves. Now that the wall had been breached, he had to make sure there were suitable consequences – stern enough to indicate that he wouldn't tolerate such a breach again, yet reasonable enough to not discourage Kutner completely. Put the fear of God into him, so to speak….or at least annoy the hell out of him. But how exactly did you punish someone for trying to kill themselves? That wasn't something he had ever thought about very deeply. _Hmm, if we were back at PPTH, he would be under suicide watch again, perhaps in the psych ward for observation for a little while. No psych ward here, so I guess that means he's in my own personal cuckoo's nest._

"From now on, I am your shadow," House said, making it up as he went along, but trying to sound authoritative. "I won't go to the extreme of handcuffing myself to you… at least not yet. But I _will_ be up in your grill every time you turn around. I tell you to do something, you do it. I ask you a question, you answer it, and if I'm not satisfied with the answer, I will keep asking until I am. You are going to have re-earn your independence, because I will not leave you alone if I can't trust you not to act like a moron. You are effectively grounded." Kutner blinked at him, half in acceptance and half in astonishment. That sounded so strange to his ears; he was almost 30 years old – he hadn't been grounded in years! This would be strange indeed – it wasn't like he had a ton of freedom to begin with, in this safehouse with two people watching his every move. "I want to know right now – are you going to take your punishment like a man, or should I expect you to make another attempt to go over the wall?" Without waiting for Kutner's answer, House barreled on. "Because I have no problem just keeping you sedated for the next few weeks, if it boils down to that. I'd rather not do that though, because that would wind up being very boring for me. So what's it going to be? After what you put us through today, I think you owe me a little advance notice if you're not going to cooperate." House looked expectantly at his protégé, practically daring him to be difficult on this matter.

Kutner, for his part, knew he had lost House's trust for the time being and was well-aware that winning it back would be no small feat. He'd probably be atoning for this for the remainder of his fellowship… maybe even beyond. But he sincerely wanted to try. "House, I promise, I swear, I won't try to hurt myself again. I know I won't be able to fix myself emotionally overnight, and I honestly can't tell you I won't at least have those _feelings_ anymore, but I won't do anything like this again. This freaked me out today – I'm shocked that I went as far as I did, and you saw yourself – I tried to undo it once I realized it. I really do promise I won't be so foolish if I should happen to get really upset again. I'll come to you, I will…"

And Kutner meant it more sincerely than he had when House had originally laid down his rules. His actions today had startled and terrified him. It was one thing to imagine death, to plan to kill oneself for whatever reason. It was another thing entirely when you were acting on those plans. How frightened he had been when he realized, as he could feel himself dying, that when it came right down to it, he did not WANT to die. It had been nothing short of miraculous that he had been saved – somehow the universe had spared him yet again, and he was becoming very aware that he might only have so many lives left, like a cat. And McNugget was right: he was the one who had to make sure Donne was put away. He had been too selfish to see it before. Surely that was why he had survived, wasn't it? He had to go on living, if only to make sure that horrible man would never kill again. He at least had to live long enough to accomplish this... for Mom, and Dad, and the team, and for House too.


End file.
